


piece of your heart

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Louis, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Unconnected porn ficlets I found in my Google Drive from 2012-2015. Includes substantial stuff like Louis getting fucked in a pink skirt, Louis getting fucked in soft and pretty lingerie, Louis getting fucked as a glasses-wearing 19-year-old, etc. Some of them were posted to AO3 years ago and deleted; some were posted to my old Tumblr and deleted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Is anyone still in this fandom even lol???? I just got a new laptop and found all the porn I used to write and thought hey, why not just post it. It's all unconnected, all unedited, and some of it may end at random points because teenage-me got bored and left it, and adult-me forgot it even existed lmao. long live 1d!!!!!!!!! let's kick it all off w a classic - twinky louis gettin railed while wearing that FUCKING pink skirt!

Harry can hear Louis’ little giggles before he can see the pixie-like boy, sitting at his study desk, fingers skimming over the keyboard quickly when the door to his room pushes open.

“H,” Louis whispers, voice gleeful, and when Harry glances over his shoulder, Louis’ little fingers are gripping the side of the door tightly, head peeking out. Harry gives him a questioning smile.

“Harry,” Louis says again, before giggling again and quickly stepping into the room, turning around and shutting the door fast but silently. Harry’s eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open when Louis turns around again, pressing his back to the door, legs pressed together, a familiar pink skirt wrapped high around his waist, falling to naked mid-thigh. 

“Louis?” Harry asks, and it seems like they’re introducing themselves again, saying each other’s names so much. He brings his hands down from the laptop to his lap, over his crotch, because he’s sixteen and the sight of his wank image in a small pink skirt as him hardening embarrassingly fast. He shuffles in the chair, turning sideways to give Louis a puzzling glance.

“H,” Louis greets again, smoothing his little hands down the pink, his fingers sliding between his thighs, quick but slow enough for Harry to notice. He swallows dryly, shifting in the chair. “Just finished a twitcam, did y’watch it, love?”

“No, I- I hadn’t, I needed.” He doesn't finish the sentence,  _ I needed to finish this report _ , because his mouth goes dry and his tongue stiffens as Louis pushes himself from the door and walks over to him nonchalantly, feet padding softly against the thick carpeting of his room.

“I wanted to humor everyone, and I found this ridiculous skirt. I had a little fun with it.” He leans his bum against the edge of Harry’s desk, dangerously near to him now, a bare thigh right in Harry’s vicinity. “I didn't put it on, though; thought you’d appreciate it more than other people.”

Harry blushes then, trying to say something but nothing comes out. Louis just smiles down at him before reaching down and gripping his shoulders gently, pushing him in the chair again until he’s pressed against the back of it fully. Harry watches dry-mouthed as Louis straddles his thighs before plopping into his lap, and he thinks he’s going to die, this is it, he’ll die with his best mate wearing a pink skirt in his lap. He had so much potential, really.

“Why?” he croaks out a second later, as Louis adjusts himself, trying to make his position more comfortable. The way Louis’ squirming, though, has Harry growing harder even quicker, and his heart thumps, brain spinning, prays Louis won't notice. Louis notices everything, though.

“Because, Harry,” he says, stilling and bringing his hands up, one cupping the side of Harry’s neck, the other brushing the fringe out of his eyes, “I thought you’d appreciate it. Do you?”

Harry looks down, blushes harder, and his own hands come to grip Louis’ waist, thumbing at the noticeable lump the folded waistband of the skirt makes under his Rolling Stones shirt. “I guess.”

Louis smiles again, dirtier this time, and Harry cannot  _ breathe _ when he grinds down once, still smiling a bit.

“I noticed,” he comments, a hand coming to press palm-down on the growing lump in Harry’s sweats, and Harry cants his hips up. He’s gonna die, honestly. 

“I knew you would,” Louis continues on, and his fingers fit around the shape of Harry’s cock, rubbing it slowly through the material. Harry’s eyes squeeze shut, lips parting, stomach dropping. 

“Hand-” he wheezes a moment later, when he realizes Louis will probably go on teasing him through the sweats, and he sounds needy, voice thin, “Lou, hand, please-”

“God, I never thought you’d ask. Shut the fuck up,” Louis grunts, and Harry wants to point out it’s only been ten minutes but he remembers Louis has thin patience, and his fingers are slipping under the waistband of his pants, which. He’d never want to interrupt that, really.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes a moment later, and Harry’s eyes snap open to see him wrapping his lithe fingers around his prick, hard and large and curved upward, “you’re really big for-”

“For what?” Harry asks, voice a bit frantic. Louis looks up at him and meets his eyes, confused.

“Nothing, sorry.” He strokes Harry once, slow and uncertain, and Harry whimpers, limbs straining a bit. 

“Lou,” he says, voice cracking, and Louis looks up at him again, “I’ve got- I’ve got something in the drawer-” He waves one trembling hand out behind Louis, points it. Louis glances at it and gives a small laugh.

“Dirty boy, Harry.” His free hand tugs it open, disappearing inside before drawing out a mostly empty bottle of lube. “Dirty.”

He has to use both hands to open it, and he lets go of Harry’s prick to do so, flicking it open as he squeezes some onto his palm. Harry watches him for a moment before looking down again, too shameful to watch it for a reason. 

His mouth goes dry when he sees the pink material of Louis’ (he’s not actually sure if it’s Louis’ skirt, really) skirt sitting on his thick thighs gently, narrow waist tapered in because of the waistband. He nearly looks like a girl from the angle, would it not have been for the fact his cock is now trapped under the material, poking through it.

“Dirty boy,” Louis says again, but it has more meaning this time as Harry eyes his thighs, sort of wanting to fuck them up. He grips Harry’s cock again with a wet palm, and he hisses, hands on Louis’ waist tightening because it’s cold and of course Louis’ the type of person who wouldn't warn someone.

“Sorry,” he says sweetly, and he begins to stroke Harry quickly, getting his dick slick, thumbing at one nipple with his free hand. It’s maybe the most erotic sight Harry’s ever seen, really, Louis leaning back against his desk, in his lap with a skirt on, jerking him off. He thinks he wouldn't  _ really _ mind dying.

That’s when Louis stops stroking him. Harry’s slack jaw tightens and his hooded eyes go wide as he looks at the older boy, who’s lifting the hem of the skirt and shuffling up, lifting his hips over the tip of Harry’s cock.

“Fuck, _ Louis _ ,” Harry gasps, holding his hips tight enough he can’t move, “you can’t just do that  _ dry _ -”

Louis pauses, mouth twisting up before he looks at Harry from under his lashes.

“Who said I was dry?”

Harry’s hand has never moved so quickly; skimming down his waist and under the taut folds of the skirt, running over his soft thigh and to where he’s already wet and loose.

“Lou-” he whispers, voice hoarse and Louis smiles down at him from the bridge of his nose, looking three million types of pleased with himself. He takes Harry’s dick in his hand again, gripping him lose, his skin winter-pale and ghostly against the flushed hardness. It makes his prick twitch in the older boy’s grip, causing him to smile smugly again.

Louis sinks down onto him easily; wet and loose, Harry’s cock slick. Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head almost at the tight, slick pressure around him, cock throbbing, hands gripping Louis’ waist. The hem of the skirt brushes his thigh, and since it feels like every single nerve he has is on-edge now, he shivers, a hapless noise tumbling out his lips. His eyes open slowly, and he stares at the ceiling, enjoying the feeling. Until Louis rolls his hips once.

“H, fuck, Haz,” Louis says, and when Harry’s gaze snaps to him, he sees Louis’ thighs are trembling, stomach muscles quaking and nipples hard and poking through the material of his shirt. He’s tugging at his fringe, frantic, eyes blurry with tears, and Harry grips his wrists, entwines their fingers and settles their hands over the tops of Louis’ thighs.

“S’alright,” he croaks, hoarsely, and Louis bites his bottom lip, nodding before looking at him from under his sticky lashes.

“C’n I move?” he asks, and Harry chuckles helplessly, nodding like he can’t believe he’s asking. Louis seems to get that response from him, so he grips his hand tighter and rocks his hips once, and Harry can feel him pull him inside tighter, until his cock is completely in him, and Louis looks so fucking content with that. It makes Harry’s misery fade a bit.

“It feels nice,” Louis whispers, “doesn't it?” And Harry has to nod at that, because it does, fucking amazing feeling around his prick. He’s fucked girls before, felt their tight clutch around him, their slickness, but he doesn't think anyone else could overrun Louis.

(And that’s his opinion in everything, now, really.)

Louis wraps his arms around Harry, locking his fingers behind his neck, and just slowly rocks his hips, clenching around him. Harry sighs, a bit exasperated, before dipping down and kissing his jaw, the skin under his lips smooth and delicate. He nips at it with his teeth from the thought.

“Amazing-” Louis says, and Harry groans into his skin when he presses his feet flat on the floor and lifts his hips, pulling up and then dropping back down, feeling the drag of Harry’s sensitive cockhead inside him, “how someone could walk in here now, and think I’m just sitting in your lap-”

“What about you wearing a skirt?” Harry asks, and he burrows his face into the crook of Louis’ neck as he begins to move quicker, thighs straining each time he lifts his hips and drops back down, sometimes resorting to just rolling his hips. “They’d- I think they’d find that a bit odd, you?”

Louis surges forward and kisses Harry hard, teeth and tongue, fingers tangling into his mess of hair. “Shut the fuck up.”

Harry grunts into it, and the next time Louis’ fully seated on his cock, his hands smooth down his curvy little sides, over his thighs and then sliding under the skirt, his fingers pressing into the fleshy meat of his bum. Louis makes a yelping noise into the kiss when Harry pulls his ass cheeks apart and his fingertip rubs against his stretched-out rim, cock spreading his arse out wide. He holds him there tight and, with shaky legs, stands up from the chair, breathing hard when Louis squeezes around him in retaliation.

He doesn't move, just bends over the study desk and lets Louis’ back hit the desktop, leaning back carefully to keep his cock pressed in the older boy. Louis makes an indignant noise, and when he’s back to his full height, Louis lets his thighs fall apart each side of his narrow hips, granting him the image of wear he’s all spread open and wet. Harry grips his knees, trying to normal his breathing.

“Y’know,” he says slowly, leaning over Louis again, patting his calves so he carefully hitches his legs over his slowly-broadening shoulders, “you have such a pretty little face.”

Louis’ eyes widen, and his mouth opens but Harry doesn't let him speak, bracing himself over him by placing two flat palms either side of his head, pulling out quick before snapping his hips back in, causing Louis to moan, eyes fluttering shut.

“You’re really very pretty,” he continues, hips speeding up, cock slipping in and out of him faster, and Louis is writhing on it now, pushing down for more, lips open, a raw cherry red colour, eyes silently begging. “If someone came in the room when you were on m’lap-”

He grunts, leaning back and gripping Louis from the backs of his thighs, watching himself slide into the fleshy pink before continuing, “and you hid y’face, they would have thought you were a bloody  _ girl _ \-  _ God _ , your cunt is tight.”

Louis hiccups a gasp, eyes wet, stained cheeks, and he arches his back, arse pushing down, thighs spreading as far as he can push them, a silent  _ moremoremore _ . His little nipples are poking through his shirt, and he drags his nails down the wood of Harry’s desk, other hand reaching up to tug at the little nub, whining. Harry fucking  _ loves  _ seeing his loud, bossy exterior fade.

“You’d look so pretty in makeup,” he continues, and his voice is ragged and rough, heat pooling in his stomach, shoulders caving inward, “and some pink on y’lips, sucking me off. Then I’d eat your pussy out, jus’ like a pretty girl-”

Louis all but screams at that, back arching, and Harry would feel bad for his cock if he were in his normal state but he doesn't, just watches it shoot off over his shirt, hitting his chin, back arching, hips slamming down to meet Harry’s thrusts.

Harry doesn't stop as he comes, just holds his perspiring thighs tighter in his sweaty grip and pounds him into the desk, fucking him through it until he’s whimpering, eyes screwing shut, skirt pleats slipping down his skin. He clenches around Harry weakly, trembling a bit, mouth working over empty, nonsensical words until Harry slams in once more and stills, body jerking in oversensitivity as he comes, Louis squeezing around him once more to make him hiss and swat his thigh.

He can feel his cock covering in his release, and he winces, looking down at Louis, tongue heavy as he whispers “d’you want me to pull out?”

“Of course I fucking do,” is the expected and gotten reply, “what, do you want me to live on with your cock in my arse?”

“I’d suspect it,” he mutters, but holds Louis open as he gently pulls out, gripping his soft prick and watching his come dribble out of Louis’ wet rim and onto the piece of skirt under his bum. It’s a sight for sore eyes.

“You fucking got me all messy,” Louis mutters, reaching a hand down and pressing gentle fingers to himself. Harry blushes when their eyes meet quickly, and licks his lips. Louis’ cocks his head at him with judging eyes, making him flush deeper.

“Oh,” Louis says flatly, “right. You got me wet, right.”

“S’alright,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyes widen as he drops to his knees, nothing but Louis’ thighs and Louis’ smell and Louis’ leaking hole around and in front of him, “I’ve cleaned people up before.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis begins, and a hand shoots out to tangle into the top of his hair, pulling tight, “if you stick your fucking tongue-”

Harry ignores him, has found out that it’s a really useful thing to do sometimes, tuning Louis out, and spreads him open with his thumbs, licking into him quickly.

The breathless gasp that leaves Louis spurs him on, and he closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he keeps licking at him, tasting himself as well as the older boy. He presses the tip of his thumb in as well a moment later, and Louis pushes his arse down on his face, mouth, hands pulling out his hair to snake around his own cock and jerk himself off.

Harry’s mouth and tongue ache a bit when Louis comes a while later, but the way Louis twitches and makes soft noises is worth it. He wipes his mouth when he pulls back, feeling hot when he sees his chin and mouth are slick and wet.

“Like a girl,” he tells Louis when Louis finally finds the strength to sit up, legs still idly shaking.

“Shut the fuck up,” he answers, eyes flickering from Harry’s mouth to his own cock, half-hard. “God, it was so easy to get a boner when I was sixteen, too.”

Harry watches him slowly get down in front of him, and the position is odd and cramped for their liquid-y limbs what with the desk and chair caging them in, so Harry pushes the chair back and spreads his legs for Louis to settle in between them.

“S’your turn,” he prompts, jutting his chin out, and Louis glares at him but grips his cock, hand still looking insanely tiny. He leans over him, jerking him off with his slick hand, craning his neck down, thumbing over his slit and Harry groans, coming over his chin and lips, thighs shaking around him as he keeps stroking him slowly.

“You’re a really dirty boy,” Louis hums, leaning back and licking his bottom lip. Harry rolls his eyes, sinking back into the chair behind him.

“Yeah, but you’re the dirty boy with the skirt on, so.”

Louis squeezes his knee with one hand, the other hitching the skirt under his tummy so his wet thighs won’t show. “Shut the fuck up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anon requested 19 y/o louis riding 19 y/o harry so hard his glasses fell off. damn.

Harry doesn’t watch the way his thick, hard cock disappears between Louis’ soft and idly trembling thighs as the younger boy sinks down onto him because he might come instantaneously if he does.

Louis’ little hands are shaking where they lay on his hard chest, pressing gentle divots into his damp skin and he looks up at Harry and he tries to smile but his bottom lip is shaking so hard he fails. Harry thinks he looks fucking adorable, small on top of Harry’s much larger body and trying hard to please the older boy. His cock twitches inside him at the thought.

“H- what…” Louis bites out, black frames askew on the slightly upturned crook of his nose and he tentatively rolls his hips lightly and Harry groans, bringing his large hands up and gripping the soft give of his hip as he continues, “how do I- do this?”

“Just do whatever you think is right,” Harry murmurs, watching as Louis slowly picks himself up, moaning prettily at the hot drag of Harry’s cock on his velvety walls. He lights up as Harry moans as well, thick eyebrows furrowing and pink lips dropping open. He wants to make Harry proud; keep that blissed expression on his face so he rocks his hips back down, pawing at his chest.

He notices after a while of slow riding that Harry looks a little breathless, like he’s straining himself not to go faster and he realizes that he probably likes it more rough than gentle and calm. He swallows, his mouth wet and skin flushed as he reaches behind himself to grip Harry’s thighs.

Harry lets out a groan; then, because the way Louis’ just positioned himself has his thighs jiggling with each bounce and his eyebrows are scrunched up in concentration to make _ Harry _ feel good and there’s saliva trickling out in three different thin strings from his pretty red mouth and his pert pink nipples are so _ hard _that Harry can’t stop from moving one hand from his hip to run it up the softness of his quaking tummy and reach up to flick his left one, letting him hear a mewl fall from the smaller boy’s mouth.

Louis’ so _ soft; _ he realizes, delicate and gentle and pink and _ adorable _ and he gives Harry this awful _ urge _ to grab him and take him home and completely _ wreck _ him in between soft sheets until he’s reduced to a quietly whimpering mess, agreeable and arching under Harry’s touches and greedy for more though he’d never admit it because he’s been raised as a _ good _boy and good boys aren’t greedy; they take what they can get thankfully.

He fondles Louis’ nipple, palming over the skin surrounding it and Louis cries out as he tugs it between his thumb and forefinger. Harry watches as the boy begins to thrust onto him harder, thighs jiggling and lips parted and hands gripping Harry tight as he moves up and sinks down; his tight, fucking _ wet _ hole clenching onto Harry hotly until he drops his hand and can’t do anything other than watch Louis ride him eagerly.

He brings his hands back round to the front and grips his own thighs tight as he bounces happily, moaning sweetly as Harry rubs against his prostate on each fuck inward and Harry begins to meet him; pushes his hips up and he gasps as Louis rolls his hips back down, panting and his glasses topple from the very end of the bridge of his nose and onto his sweaty chest. He manages to choke out a laugh until Louis breathes out “Ha- Harry? Could you touch me?”

Harry looks up at him and the ache in his stomach is building as his orgasm nears and it takes all he can to husk out “wanna see you touch yourself; touch your pretty little cock as you ride me.”

Louis whimpers and takes one hand off his thigh and grips his hard cock, wrapping his small fingers around it and he begins to sloppily stroke it as Harry goes on, “bet you used to finger yourself while thinking about me, didn’t you? Have three inside yourself and think about how much better mine would feel?”

Louis whines and nods because yes, he did. Harry smirks up at him and moves the fragile glasses away, near their strewn clothing and he doesn’t have the chance to say anything else before Louis’ clenching around him hot and slick and pulsing and he shouts before holding him down and coming _ hard _, panting as he fills the condom he’s wearing and Louis stills in his grip, crying out as he comes into his fist and wet tears leak down his flushed, hollow cheeks. His debauched state just prolongs Harry’s orgasm until he’s left sated and boneless against the carpeted floor of the drama room.

Louis looks weak and destroyed as he climbs off Harry, arms shaking before they give out and send him falling to the floor beside the older boy. He turns his head a little and meets Harry’s gaze before mumbling “how was- how was I?”

Harry smiles softly, reaching out to swipe away his fringe. “You were- you were really fucking good. Was that the first time a guy had you ride them?”

Louis blushes, bringing one hand to his trembling lips. “Um, that was my first time with someone else-“

Harry looks up. “Someone ‘else’?”

Louis keens as Harry pulls him in and kisses down his neck, biting at the junction of his shoulder. “I- I’ve only ever had my fingers and- sex toys-“

Harry looks down at him and his pretty blue eyes are open wide and innocent and he’s not sure which fact to address first; really, but he’s sure he has a pretty boy now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok not sure exactly what this is. i think i just wanted to write about louis w kitten ears. hmm. i had questionable taste, yeah. it seems plotty but there is porn and possessive harry so WHAT more do u need.

-

Harry is sure he and Louis are soulmates. Like, one hundred percent sure. Never been more sure of anything, really.

He’s been in love with Louis, since, like, kindergarten. Honestly. He’d been assigned to a reading buddy on the first day, and it was Louis Tomlinson, a first-grader with bored eyes and chubby baby cheeks. Louis grew out of those chubby cheeks; is now equipped with cheekbones so sharp it puts Rachel Ray’s favourite kitchen knife to shame, but he still has those bored eyes. Those bored, blue, sparkling blue eyes that Harry wants to stare into all day as he and Louis run down grassy hills and have picnics under the sun and splash each other with river water.

Harry’s seventeen now, and he’s outgrown his own kindergarten traits. Sort of. He still has tight curls, big green eyes and dimples so deep Niall’s whole fingertip can press into the dip it creates on his cheek. But along with that, he’s tall and becoming muscular, his voice has become deeper, puberty hit all the right body parts and he’s adopted a certain cheeky charm that has everyone falling for him without him even having to use his dominant-Alpha demand.

Everyone except Louis, naturally. Because that’s how it always is; the one you want is the only one who stares at you like you’re lower than the dirt beneath their shoes, which is sorta how Louis looks at everyone, but Harry kind of wished  _ everyone _ didn't include him.

Luck has worked its strange way out for Harry, though, because Louis’ nineteen now and still in highschool, giving him more time to seduce Louis before he goes to Uni and Louis locks himself in his flat for the rest of his life. Or maybe it wasn't luck and just the fact Louis never cared during classes, just chewed his minty gum or slept or doodled. Which, well.

Doodling to pass classtime is one of Harry’s favourite things Louis does, because Louis is an art freak; always at school with loose skinny jeans that are rolled up over his thin ankles and have paint splatters all over them, t-shirts that have acrylic paint stuck into their material, black-frame glasses with tiny watercolour flecks and soft, tan skin with smudges of paint, marker and pastels marring it. He always looks so content when drawing, and Harry can’t help but coo inwardly at how his face softens as he adds another knife into the stickman on his paper or draws a wickedly insane atomic bomb explosion. It’s so endearing.

Sometimes, Harry wants to walk over and ask Louis who the guy getting stabbed in his drawing is. Ask him what colour of pastel is on his fingertips because it’s lovely and Harry wants him to press them into his skin until he’s adopted the hue. Ask him why he stares at everything like he hates it. Ask him why he stopped talking to him when elementary school ended.

He never does, though, because this is high school, and Harry’s on the football team, and he wears a letterman jacket, and he’s friends with the jocks and cheerleaders which Louis hates. He knows that if he talks to Louis, they’d all take notice of him and ruin his life over his little quirks that seem ‘weird’ to them. It’s a hard life, he thinks, being in love with a tortured soul.

He still thinks, though, that Louis is his soulmate. He’s positively  _ sure _ of it.

-

“He’s so pretty,” Harry sighs, leaning his chin on his fist and watching Louis on the other side of the cafeteria.

“He’s so weird,” Niall answers. Harry would have given Niall the rest of his fries if he wouldn't have said that. Instead, he just scowls at him.

“Oh, look who’s goin’ all wolfy on me. Look at your ears,” Niall reaches up and tugs on the furry wolf ear embedded between his hair, and he yowls, like- well, a wolf.

“Jesus!” Liam gasps, swatting his arm. “Quiet down, H.”

“Tell him to keep his hands to himself!” Harry argues back, rubbing his drooping ear softly. Liam glares at Niall.

“We learned that in goddamn kindergarten, Ni.”

“But H’s being all annoyin’ ‘nd hearteye-”

“Shut up,” Zayn says suddenly, slapping his hands on the table. “God, you guys, I should just go ‘nd be with Lou or summat ‘cause you’re all so  _ annoying _ -”

Niall and Liam look to him with big puppy eyes, and he scowls, pushing his earbuds in and letting his head drop onto the lunch table again. Harry watches his sleek black quiff and wolf ears flop in interest, before looking back at Louis. He’s stabbing his plastic fork into the salad on his tray with eyes so fiery they seem to blaze behind his frames. Harry leans back in his seat a bit.

“Lookit ‘im,” Niall says, and Harry gasps when he sees he’s chewing away on his fries, “he’s fucking crazy. Or a salad hater. Either way, he’s weird, H.”

Harry doesn't reply, because okay, Louis’ not exactly a normal high school student, but that’s sort of good in a way. He doesn't give nerds swirlies in the bathroom or grin at shy students like he knows something they don't or give teachers any shit. 

“I want to kiss him,” he whispers lamely. He yelps a bit too loudly when he feels the sharp tip of Zayn’s Nike hightops kick his shin, and he pouts at Liam again. Liam sighs and rubs Zayn’s back, which was  _ not _ the outcome Harry wanted.

He sighs and glances back out at the crowd, the room, the masses; the things that keep him and Louis apart. Wow. He’s philosophical. Louis’ staring back at him. He really is good with his words, Harry. Maybe he should- wait.

His head snaps back up. Louis’ staring at him. Louis is staring at him. Louis. Louis Tomlinson. His Louis Tomlinson. Sort of. Louis stabs his salad again while staring right at Harry. Harry grins wide at him. Louis gives him a confused and kind-of-freaked-out face, which is understandable. Wait.

Before Harry can call out that Louis needs to come and sit in his lap and kiss him up a little bit, only if he wants, he’s not making him, Louis is already standing up and pushing all his garbage onto his tray. He swings his vintage drawstring backpack over his shoulders, leaves one ear plugged with an earbud and walks to the entrance of the caf. Harry watches him throw out his trash before walking out helplessly, sinking into Niall’s side sadly when there’s no more sight of a colourful, angry boy.

“He stabbed his fork into his salad while smilin’ at ya,” Niall spits out between his chews, and Harry doesn't even bother wiping the clump that fell on his nose. “He’s fuckin’ weird.”

-

Something that makes Harry feel happy and exhilarated is when he’s on the field. So, since he’s feeling pretty shitty, he can’t wait for the end of the school day. 

Classes drag by agonizingly slow, with no Louis in sight. Niall sends him text messages with rows of the word  _ weird _ typed in, causing the English teacher to take his phone away for the period and the science teacher to send it down to guidance. Jade keeps trying to start conversations with him (‘you look so much better than the other guys in that jacket, Harry’ ‘your ears look so cute yet manly; how is that possible?’ ‘can I blow you in the washrooms?’), Liam keeps a watchful eye on him in case he decides to kidnap Louis, marry him then commit suicide with him via Shakespeare and Zayn ignores him, which isn't really new, but it adds to all the shitty of the current day.

When the bell goes after science, Harry’s been packed up for five minutes already and he bolts out the doors quickly, racing down the still bare stairwells before students can flood them. Before he heads to the gym, he stops by guidance for his phone. 

When he gets to the locker room, it’s full and pretty naked. Bushy tails are swinging this way and that as the boys get dressed up, talking to each other or untangling the straps of their helmets or laughing at their friend’s bulky shoulders when he slips on his uniform. 

Harry decides not to take too long and stays in a corner by himself, feeling Liam, Niall and Zayn’s heated gazes on his back. He ignores it and pulls on the uniform before heading into the gym then out the gym’s back doors and to the field. A few boys are there, along with the coach. The bleachers are littered with a few girls that are dating some teammates, students doing their homework in the cool Autumn air and Louis.

Harry’s gaze snaps up to the top row of the bleachers, where Louis is sitting: knees hiked up, elbows resting on the patch of material sewn onto one side, hair fluttering in the wind to reveal his triangular kitten ears and eyes steadily on Harry. Harry sinks back, his shoulders slouching inwards, so very un-Alpha-like. Gemma would be disappointed.

The thing is, this isn't how he wants to be towards Louis. He wants to stand tall and go up to him and grab him by the waist; pull him in and tell him you’re mine and keep him. He wants to bond him and have him and knot him and be the one to see his eyes change from their neutral boredness to sparkling happiness or mischievous glee or dizzy pleasure. He doesn't want to be a once-known person to Louis that became a stranger and a receiver of that tired look. He wants to know how that happened, because not knowing is frustrating him and sort of ruining him.

He can feel his fury building, which is ridiculously unlike him, as he stares right back at Louis, who hasn't cut off their gaze. He watches him a bit more before pulling on his helmet and willing all his anger to fuel his stamina for practice today.

Naturally, it does. He plays hard, glaring at Liam before the coach blows the whistle, runs hard enough he can feel the ground rumble under his shoes, scores a couple of touchdowns and has the coach yelling “don’t kill anyone, Styles!”

He can still feel Louis watching him, except now his gaze feels distracted, and he growls lowly, surprising himself. He doesn't want Louis’ divided attention once he finally gets it. 

He looks up when they’re allowed to take a break and sees Louis sketching furiously; large, blank artists paper book open in his lap, one hand holding it steady as the other scribbles all over the page. His long fringe hangs down in a perfect swoop over the side of his face, shielding nearly all of it except his lashes. They flutter in surprise when he looks back down at the field and Harry isn't dashing across it.

He waves his hand at Harry a moment later in a  _ come here _ motion, and Harry feels his erratic breathing and heartbeat slow. They keep slowing until he thinks they might stop and he’ll be left for dead on the field, but Louis waves at him again, more impatient, so he grabs his water bottle and his backpack before double-stepping up the bleachers.

“Hi,” he says, embarrassingly breathless, and Louis nods at him, which is a start. He then pats the spot on the wood bench beside him, and that is definitely a start.

Harry sits down slowly before looking beside himself at Louis and grinning widely. Louis gives him dead eyes. Harry’s grin falters a bit.

“Um. Did you want something?” he asks, looking down at his lap and twisting his fingers together. Louis shifts beside him, before leaning over and placing his drawing book on his lap. He smells so good.

Harry’s breath catches as he studies it, eyes widening because- it’s him, most definitely him. It’s him, with the broader shoulders and more narrow waist, little curls peeking out the bottom of his helmet, large hand spanning over the width of the football he’s about to toss. It’s him, drawn in pencil, lines and lines of sharp lead creating tiny motions to make it seem like he’s moving into spot, eyes narrowed and determined. It’s him, drawn by Louis’ ridiculously talented hand. He gawks.

“This is amazing,” he croaks a while later, lifting the pad of his pointer finger to run over the lines, feeling them smudge onto his skin. He usually hates the feeling, but it’s Louis’ pencil, so it’s fine. “Why did you draw it?”

“Because you were watching me with a mix of yearning puppy and terrifying wolf.” And Harry realizes, then, that that’s probably the first time he’s heard Louis’ voice this year, and it’s thin and perfect and directed towards him. His shitty day has suddenly become the best day of his life. “I thought maybe this would get you to stop.”

Harry doesn't reply for a while, and that has Louis getting a bit nervous. He doesn't show it, but Harry can feel it shift in his aura. “Was it- dumb, sorry. It was dumb.” His hand shoots out to grab his book back, but before Harry can think it over, he’s gripping Louis’ wrist tightly, holding it in place so he can’t move it anymore.

“It’s not dumb,” he says hoarsely, voice low, “it’s wonderful. Thank you.”

Louis fucking full-bodily  _ shivers _ at the praise, eyes fluttering and when he focuses them on Harry, his face is flushed in anger. Harry raises an eyebrow at him.

“Let go of me,” he hisses, then “I’m cold, is all.”

Harry drops his hand and Louis immediately draws his own back, rubbing over his wrist. Harry hesitates, before asking “would you like my jacket?”

“Ha.” Louis stands up, snatching his book, closing it and shoving it into his bag. He swings it over his back and stands to his full height, pushing his glasses up higher onto his nose. “Not a chance in hell.”

He quickly steps down the wood benches before leaping over the last three and landing onto his feet gracefully. If that were Harry, he’d have tripped over a few of the benches, banged his knees until they were lined with thin bubbles of red and would’ve fallen on his face when leaping onto the gravel. He winces.

When he stands up and sighs, picking his helmet up from beside him he notices Zayn and Niall at the bottom of the bleachers. Liam is standing a bit farther from them but they’re all looking up at Harry with raised eyebrows. He scowls at them and tries to will them away, but they’re betas. It doesn't work as well as he wants it to.

-

When he stumbles into the front doors of his house, before he can even knock they swing open and he falls face-first into a pair of boobs. Which is nice. But they’re his sister's boobs, which. Not so nice.

“Alpha’s _ are _ perverts,” Gemma says, then “get the fuck off, little brother.”

“One, you’re an Alpha,” he retorts once his mouth isn't being smothered by breasts, “and two, you opened the doors when you could smell me just to do this.”

She lets a manicured hand fall onto his shoulder. “Little bro’s getting smarter.”

He sighs before pushing past her.

-

It’s actually a normal after-school routine. Well, it’s not  _ normal _ normal, but normal in the sense that he’s been doing it for a while now.

He strips out of his clothes and grabs his towel before heading to the shower. In the shower, he has a long, drawn-out wank that consist of Louis in ways so indecent it’s probably lightyears past what people think of Harry. They mainly include images of Louis bent over and fingering himself, not knowing that Harry is watching him by the door of the room as he moans and begs for Harry’s cock, and Harry’s inner wolf breaking out, screaming to claim the burning little boy and- yeah, he usually comes with an embarrassed groan before the real action starts.

After he washes the dirt and shame off his body, he dries up, changes and has supper with everyone. They ask how his day went, he tells them truthfully, he helps clean up and does homework. Those are the days when he doesn't have a shift at work. Those are mostly spent with painful boners and the knowing gaze from Cara on him the whole time.

He tumbles into bed earlier than normal today, smushing his face into his pillow as he holds a funeral for his manliness in his mind. He knows he’s acting like a bloody girl now, and apparently Gemma knows as well.

“When you go to school tomorrow I’m looking for the diary you’re bound to have hidden in your room.”

He flips her off only when he knows she’s in her room and not watching.

-

The next day, Harry walks down the halls of the empty school after practice, eyes trained on the ceiling and hands clutching the straps of his duffel bag tightly. 

He’s sweaty but he doesn't smell all that gross because it’s cool out. His curls hang limply in his eyes, and he feels his chest tighten with each step.

This has been his life for the past three years: watching, waiting, wanting. Teen movies that play on MTV can go suck a dick because that is  _ not  _ how they portrayed a hot high school jock’s life. Their life usually consisted of parties, plastic red cups, a little amount of schoolwork, a whole lot of sex and the girl you always wanted. Harry doesn't want any of that, and he doesn't even want a  _ girl _ , yet he has none of it. So. Suck a dick, MTV.

As his locker comes into view after rounding a hallway, he’s really starting to get into the pity party beginning to play out in his mind when he freezes.

He feels his ears perk up and his body pull taut as he smells it faintly; something idly familiar, and he finds himself gripping his bag tighter and slowly, quietly following the smell.

He walks down a couple of hallways, the smell becoming stronger and stronger. He begins to get impatient, cursing himself for coming to the oldest highschool in the area that has tons and tons of twisting corridors instead of opting for the new one they built beside the convenient plaza. 

(He actually just came here because Louis did.)

When his feet stop in front of the tall doors of the artroom, he remembers how the scent was familiar: he smelled it from Louis on the bleachers yesterday. But Louis was acting normal, so he’s starting to freak out inside a bit.

He presses his palm on the smooth varnish on the door, breathing in a few times before pushing it open gently. He never even stopped to think if that was a good idea, and he’s glad he didn't.

Louis’ gripping the sides of the back counter in the room, head hanging low over it, breathing shallow. His fingers are gripping the edges so hard they’re twitching, and when he looks up at Harry, his eyes are blurry and narrowed, skin flushed.

“Guh-” he gasps, like he was trying to say something. Harry fishmouthes before his senses scream at him to shut the doors, and he does. Louis shakes his head at that, body lurching forward onto the counter.

“No, no- get out,” and he’s rutting against the table now, head lolling back, fringe plastered to his forehead. His eyelashes flutter like broken butterfly wings before closing over his misty eyes, and his hips press forward, moving upward in tiny motions. Harry might have just stumbled onto the set of a highschool porno-  _ ‘twinky senior omega seduces junior Alpha’ _ or some more ridiculous name. Probably.

Harry is stuck in that moment, then- should he leave and drive him manically before having a masturbating marathon, or should he let his inner Alpha finally come out to play.

It’s not easy, but he goes for the first one- because even though he would never do what someone doesn't want, he’d especially not do it to Louis. He grabs the handle of a door and as he’s about to clog his nostrils so he can’t smell anymore and flee, Louis gasps again.

“No!”

His Alpha must come out at that because his hand draws back like the door is on fire and he spins around, dropping his duffel before looking back at Louis. Their eyes meet, and Louis whimpers, glasses fogging up, upper torso sinking down onto the counter.

“Har--” his voice comes out thin and raspy, so he swallows and tries again- “Harry. Y’like me.”

Harry’s mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“And I like you.” He’s rutting frantically against the counter, and Harry frowns. He doesn't want him to get off. “And! We’ve been together since elementary!”

He’s wheezing now, tears on his cheeks as he drops a hand from the side of the counter as if he were dangling off a ledge and had no support if he let go. It snakes under the table and to the front of his jeans, which makes Harry snarl. He freezes, mouth opening, lips bitten and wet.

“Don't- don't touch yourself.”

It sounds like a sob is ripped out his throat. “Then  _ you _ touch  _ me _ .”

Harry slowly walks over, and he can literally feel his eyes blowing out all mossy green, and  _ fuck _ , Louis smells so fucking good, looks so fucking good, mouthing over nonsensical words as he stares up pleadingly.

“You’re in heat?” Harry asks, and Louis gives him a wet, wry smile before nodding. “But what- I can’t help-”

“Harry,” Louis says, and his throat sounds like it’s clogged with phlegm, “it’s old-fashioned but- you could bond me ‘nd court me.”

Harry’s mind is running faster than it should for any hormonal seventeen year old high school student. “I  _ want _ to- but. You  _ hate _ me. And courting is literally tighter than marriage, Lou-”

“Be my Alpha,” Louis says, and he hangs his head low now as he continues speaking, body trembling. He’s stopped trying to get himself off, and Harry  _ knows _ it’s because of _ him _ , and he can’t stomach all that power right  _ now _ . “I don't hate you, dolt-” He looks up with slick cheeks and a dry smile. “I love you a lot.”

Harry’s brows furrow, and he can feel his domineering senses fade, leaving him as an insecure boy. “But-”

Louis keens, reaching a shaky hand out to grab Harry’s own hand and twine their fingers. “Just fuck me then I’ll explain.”

Harry whimpers, fitting himself behind Louis. He’s- fuck, he’s never been this close to a person, and he can feel Louis’ insane body heat radiating through their layers of clothes, and he nuzzles his nose into the sweaty crook of Louis’ neck, knees nearly fucking giving out. He smells incredible.

He licks over the skin, a long, slick lap that has Louis gasping, tightening their fingers together. “C’mon, c’ _ mon _ -” he pleads, and Harry shuts his eyes tight, letting his teeth scrape over the soft junction of his neck and shoulders.

He finally sinks them into Louis, and Louis cries out, body jerking forward, the ears between his hair flattening on the top of his head as Harry sucks the mark deepdeepdeep into him.

“Oh my God,” he breathes when Harry pulls back, thin strings of saliva and blood dangling from his teeth, “Harry, please-”

He’s shaking now as Harry pulls away and turns Louis around, leading him away from the counters. The windows are directly in front of them, and even though the dark curtains are drawn tight he doesn't trust it.

Louis blinks up at him when they come face to face, stumbling over to the middle of the room, mouth raw and face wet. His thin t-shirt slips down one shoulder to reveal the mark, large and purple and sloppy and bloody and screaming  _ owned _ . Harry growls, pushing him down onto the floor and getting on top of him.

Louis shudders as he kisses him on the lips, sucking on his bottom lip for a moment before gripping his hips and flipping him over. He grips Louis’ ankles and pushes them up until Louis clambers onto his hands and knees, arse in front of Harry- and fuck.

“Please, please, please,” is all he’s chanting now, weak and afraid. Harry tugs his jeans down and sees that he’s fucking leaking through his tight briefs, slick running down the leg openings and down his thighs. He moans, leaning forward to suck a bruise onto the back of his fleshy thigh, which has Louis jerking and reaching a hand back to tug his briefs down.

As soon as Harry sees his hole, leaking and clenching over nothing, he feels like a fire has just been set inside himself. He trails his thumb up the rivets of slick dripping down his thighs before pushing the tip inside him, marveling at how he squeezes around it needily.

“Have you ever been fucked?” he asks, pushing his index finger inside him before softly biting the round of his arsecheek. Louis screams, a fist slamming on the floor as he splatters a long release over his torso and probably other places Harry can’t see, crying out hard. 

He doesn't reply; just keeps whimpering and Harry frowns, withdrawing his finger.

“I asked you a question.” He reaches out and tugs Louis’ head back, nipping at his jaw.

“No-” Louis pants, squeezing around the two fingers Harry fucks into him quickly, “no- I had to wait for a mate-”

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, pushing his fingers into him again and stretching them out wide. Louis moans again, whimpering  _ thank you thank you thank you _ and Harry shoves a hand down the front of his pants, wrapping it around his cock gingerly, and gasping sharply.

He’s never brought an omega through heat, never even fucked an omega, and his cock is swelling up so quickly. He pushes three fingers into Louis’ easy arse, fucking them in and out quickly as he leans down and kisses the sweaty nape of his neck.

“Does that feel good?” Louis opens his mouth to reply, but Harry pushes a fingertip into his prostate, daring him to even try talking while he has three fingers in his arse.

“You want my cock?” Louis nods frantically, arching his back and pushing his arse out more. “Look at you. You want it so bad.” He fucking  _ mews _ at that, scrabbling for Harry’s hand.

“Yeah- want your cock,  _ please _ ,” and Harry bites down onto his earlobe gently, teasing his fingers inside him, whispering “come.”

Louis does, with a startled gasp, shaking. His arms give out and half his body falls to the floor, arse still in the air as Harry shoves his jeans down and pushes his cock in swiftly.

He grips Louis’ hips tight, fingertips digging into the softness of his skin and he fucks him fast, swollen cockhead pushing down onto his overstimulated prostate each thrust. Louis’ hand slams onto the floor again as he sobs, his cock swelling up between his slick thighs.

Harry pulls out before sinking in swiftly again, marveling at the slick that dribbles out of Louis and shines his prick. He carefully leans over Louis, making sure his cock stays pressed into the older boy, and bites down onto his neck again, making Louis shiver.


	4. Chapter 4

He presses the end of the cigarette in between his lips, fingers still as he takes a puff. He then hefts himself on the hood of Zayn’s car, one leg tucked up to his chest.

It’s the evening, and Louis has been waiting for this certain night for quite a while. Harry’s parents are leaving him for the night and it has been a while since the two have seen each other.

He lets his back fall to the warm hood, folding one arm underneath his head and closing his eyes. He pulls the fag out, pursing his lips the slightest bit and blowing it out. He lets his lungs take a breather before lazily repeating the process.

“Lou?”

His eyes snap open and he sits up fast, body jolting. Zayn is standing there, beside the drivers door, one elegant eyebrow quirked up and a smirk on his lips.

“You gettin’ in?” he asks, and Louis flips him off before getting off the front of the car.

“You could, like, not scare me like that,” Louis grumbles, taking one more drag before dropping the fag and crushing it under the heel of his black hightops. “Y’know I’m jumpy right now.”

He gets in, slamming the door hard and tugging on the seatbelt. He then looks to Zayn, who presses the key in ignition before looking at Louis.

“Lou, no one knows you’re going to see him tonight. Only you, me and, well, him. No need to be so jumpy.” He backs the car out from its spot of the deserted parking lot, hands gripping the wheel tighter than before as he mumbles, “and s’not like you’re the only one meeting up.”

“Ah!” Louis crows, eyes shining as he gives Zayn a concentrated stare, “you seeing Pez tonight?”

“Yeh,” Zayn says, trying to be dismissive but only making Louis nudge his chin and prompt him on, “her folks are goin’ to the same charity supper Haz’s are.”

“Oh,” Louis says, clapping his hands together, “this is wondrous news. Means most of the rich brats uptown ain’t gonna be ‘round. Fantastic.”

Zayn is quiet, but when Louis looks at him confusedly the boy is smiling fondly. He takes one hand off the wheel and musses up the front of Louis’ fluffy quiff. Louis scowls and pats his hand away, but gives Zayn a small smile nonetheless.

“Thanks, Z,” he starts out, thumbing at the ripped material of his jeans covering his thigh, “for always ‘avin my back.”

Zayn barks out a laugh, and Louis sighs despite himself. “Of course, Lou. Ain’t no one else’s back I’ll ever wanna have other than yours.”

And that’s that.

~

It’s a couple of minutes past ten when Louis walks (more like sneaks) through the heavy gates in front of Harry’s place. He groans as he scales the wall, stepping on a protruding rock to keep his balance as he swings one leg over the stone wall, dangling for a moment before letting his body drop to the lush grass floor.

He lies there, sprawled on his back for a few minutes before rolling onto his stomach and getting onto his knees. He stands up and brushes himself off, rolling his eyes as he sees the fancy black Rolls Royce Harry’s parents own drive down the runway before backing onto the street and disappearing in a cloud of exhaust. He doesn’t think they saw him.

He quietly makes his way to the french double-door set, opting to knock on it instead of ringing the bell. He does so, raping the expensive wood with his knuckles once before one side swings open, and-  _ oh, _ there he is.

Harry’s wearing a loose white dress shirt, white ankle Converse and jeans, eyes bored. He’s frowning but when he sees Louis, his face breaks out into a wide grin.

“Lou- _ fuck,” _ he mumbles, pulling Louis in by the tattoo-splashed bicep. Louis tumbles through the doors before Harry slams them shut and wraps him up in a tight hug, arms tight, taut and safe around his smaller frame.

“Missed you,” Louis mumbles to him softly, his own arms coming and wrapping around Harry’s neck. Harry nuzzles his nose into the crook of Louis’ neck, kissing the small spot of exposed skin there.

“Missed you more,” Harry breathes there, and ah, yes, Louis loves this boy very, very much.

Harry holds his hand as they walk throughout the place, and Louis feels his heart flutter. It shouldn’t affect him like this; Harry’s hugs and kisses and hand in his but it’s  _ affection  _ and Louis doesn’t have that normally. For him, it’s just his sisters and his Zayn and other than that he’s got his weed and fags and brawls and his his bloody knuckles. But then Harry comes in and he practically  _ sweeps  _ Louis off his feet, with his happiness and open mind and affectionate love and Louis just hasn’t gotten used to it yet. 

As Harry leads Louis down an unlit hall and crowds him up against the wall, gently taking his thin wrists and pinning them above his head and licking into his mouth hotly, Louis doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Harry lets go of his hands and brings his own palms to cradle Louis’ cheeks, holding them gently to kiss Louis with more fervour and Louis runs his hands down Harry’s waist to knot them in the back of his shirt, holding them tight and parting his lips sweetly. Harry groans into his mouth, knee moving between his thighs and Louis immediately bucks his hips forward, moaning. His crotch is hard and he begins to hump against Harry’s thigh. Harry pulls back and gives him a knowing smirk.

“Harry,” he grits out, hands tight in the younger boys shirt. Harry presses him to the wall harder, ducking his head down and nipping at his flushing ear.

“Tell em what you want,” he teases, kissing down his neck sloppily. Louis’ mouth falls open and he moans furtively as Harry bites into the damp skin there, sucking a dark bruise and he tugs at Harry when his hands come and grope his bum.

“Take me, Harry,” he whines, riding Harry’s thigh. His cheeks are flushed and he mumbles it almost, and it seems to be enough for Harry. Louis suddenly feels the floor give underneath his feet and his eyes widen as Harry picks him up bridal-style. He squeaks and reaches one hand out to grab at Harry’s shirt, until he collects himself and kicks one leg out.

“Harry-” he breathes, “put me down!”

“Nope,” Harry says cheerfully, taking long strides to the staircase and climbing up it, “you’re mine for the night, and I’ll do what I please with you.”

Louis’ cock twitches in interest at those words and Louis scowls at himself, before burrowing his head into Harry’s chest. Harry’s hands are tight and protective around his body, and he lets out a little grunt as Harry drops him onto the bed. He scrambles onto his knees, reaching out for Harry’s wrist as soon as the younger boy shuts the bedroom doors and he tugs him over. Harry stands at the edge of the bed as Louis begins to unzip his jeans. The older boy is frantic and Harry places a hand on the back of his neck, pressing his thumbs in gently and Louis gasps.

“Yes?” he asks, his hands stilling. He looks up at harry curiously, and Harry smiles down at him fondly.

“We’ve the whole night, babe,” he whispers into the dim light, and it feels like it was said solely for Louis. Louis’ heart literally skips a beat as his eyes widen.

“How...?” he asks, warily, and Harry pushes him down until he’s laying flat on his back, sprawled out beautifully. Harry doesn’t answer, and Louis closes his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the pillow it’s resting on and baring his neck. He knows Harry’s staring, hungry yet unsure, and his body trembles with how badly he wants this boy.

“Haz,” he whines, and he feels Harry jolt out of his stupor. He presses a hand on Louis’ tummy then, thumbing at Louis’ ratty beige shirt, prompting him to take it off.

Louis sits up slightly and slides his arms out of his jean jacket, then pulling his shirt off. He toes off his Converse and kicks them to the floor, laying back down to unbutton his jeans and shimmy them off along with his boxers. 

When he’s fully bare, he looks up to see Harry just finished with clearing himself up with clothes. He thinks his cock thickens at the sight; Harry’s long and lean body, now lightly tan, splashed with many random tattoos and a hard, built chest. He’s utterly enthralling, and Louis wants,  _ needs  _ to touch him, to have their skin slick and hot and pressed together until he’s crushed into the sheets and they can’t tell who’s heartbeats is who’s.

Harry crawls on top of him, dipping his head down and Louis kisses him then; lips fitting against each other’s like always and they kiss slowly, languid like Harry’s speech until Louis’ mouth drops open in shock as Harry begins to grind against him slowly.

“Harry-” he tries to say, instead moaning it, and Harry is panting already, nodding for him to go on, “wanna- suck you off.”

He blushes furiously as the words escape him, but when he looks at Harry levely the boy looks ridiculously turned on. He nods quickly, sitting back on his haunches and letting Louis escape from underneath him.

He lies down in the warm spot Louis had been previously lying in, shifting his body until he’s comfortable. Louis crawls onto him, straddling his hips but before he can grasp Harry’s thick length in his hand, Harry’s reaching out for him and patting his thigh.

“Lou, can you, can we-” he starts, and Louis blinks, waiting for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before mumbling, “I want you to sit on my face while you, um.”

And damn, if it wasn't the single hottest proposition Louis’ ever been asked. He lets out a thick moan and nods, quickly getting off of Harry’s waist and moving upwards. He hesitates for a moment before Harry looks up at him with wide, blown eyes and that’s all he needed to slowly and carefully straddle Harry’s shoulders, back facing the younger boy’s face.

“Are you ready?” he asks, voice small and he squeaks as Harry brings one hand up to grope at his left arse cheek.

“Fuck, yeah Lou,” he says, and Louis takes Harry’s cock in one hand, holding it by the base and bending his torso down. As soon as he’s got his tongue licing at Harry’s precome-bubbling slit, Harry’s hands spread his round cheeks apart and he’s nosing there. Louis accidentally opens his mouth too wide and and a thick slide of saliva dribbles down his tongue and onto Harry’s length.

“Jesus, Har-” he tries to gasp, but Harry’s now busy breathing over his clenching rim, and his words aren’t coming out correctly. He shudders atop Harry as his tongue comes out and lightly licks over him.

As soon as Harry moves his face back the smallest inch Louis opens his mouth wide and takes his cock down, gagging right away but not letting up. He wants to make Harry feel good as well but when Harry’s in between his ass it’s kind of hard.

“Fuck!” Harry cries, and his hips arch up. Louis’ throat flutters around his head, and his chest goes up and down as he tries to breathe. He can’t, so he reluctantly removes his mouth. Harry takes this time to spread Louis’ ass apart once more and bury his tongue inside his dusty pink hole.

“Ahn-” Louis gasps, head looking up from Harry’s cock. He wraps both hands around it, trying to gain some control to wank Harry off, but his fists are trembling as Harry moves his face in impossibly close.

He looks up at the wall opposite them, saliva falling down his mouth in streams since he cannot surmise the strength to close his lips. He takes one hand off Harry’s member, gripping Harry’s thigh and he pushes himself back onto the tongue working inside him.

Harry moves back, breathing hard and hitting Louis’ slick hole, making him moan. He looks over his slim shoulder at Harry, whimpering and Harry’s face looks hazy and dazed. He grips Louis’ arse tighter in his hands and mumbles “ride my mouth.”

Louis’ body wracks a shudder and that’s it, really; he can usually try and control himself but now his body reacts for him. He sits up, pushing his arse onto Harry’s face and Harry grabs his waist, helping him steady himself. He lets out a full, sweet moan as Harry hums against his inner thigh, sending calming vibrations up his back and soon Harry’s mouth is back at his hole.

He starts off simple enough, licking over the clenching muscle once, twice before breathing hotly and lickign into Louis. Louis cries out, pushing down onto Harry’s mouth straight away and he reaches one hand back, fists his trembling fingers through Harry’s thick, damp waves and his cock twitches where it’s hard, flushed and pink against his navel. His precome is hot and thick as it dribbles down the soft give of his tummy, and as Harry digs his thumb into the top of Louis’ thigh, telling him  _ it’s okay, darling,  _ he literally loses all inhibition and rides Harry’s tongue, body twitching each time Harry licks inside his tight, hot walls quickly and suddenly there are fingers at his bottom lip, prodding in and he brings out his wet tongue, laving over the long digits for only a short time before Harry pulls them away and bringing them down to Louis’ arse.

Louis can hardly think at this point and when Harry kisses his rim softly before sticking his slick tongue back in along with a finger, Louis clutches one hand into the sheets beside Harry’s hip, his other hand tightening in his hair. He pushes down onto both tongue and finger, rolling his hips and his thighs are trembling harshly each side of Harry’s face; sore from the exertion and Harry twists his finger inside Louis once more before pulling it out and mumbling, “gonna fuck you so hard now.” 

Louis’ body is limp as he shakily climbs away from Harry’s shoulders, tears on the edge of his eyes. His cock is so hard it  _ hurts  _ and every nerve in his body is on fire. He slumps onto the sheets, breathing hard as Harry moves around beside him.

He’s just about to snuggle his head into the soft pillow underneath him when Harry’s spreading his arse cheeks apart again. He moans, hips stirring as Harry presses two fingers in this time, fucking them inside to the knuckle once before keeping them there and scissoring Louis open roughly. He stretches them out again, pressing them against Louis’ tight, slick walls and Louis moans helplessly, humping the bed.

He’s never been so hard or needy for a man before.

_ “ _ Harry, my _ God,”  _ he cries out as Harry empties him and slides them back in, pumping them in and out steadily. He then grips the sheets tighter and bites the pillow as hard as he can as harry leans down and breathes over his rim.

“Think you’re ready, Lou?” Harry asks teasingly, licking around his fingers and Louis’ going to  _ burn  _ something if Harry’s cock isn’t inside him in a second, fuking him incoherent.

“Fuck, yeah, Harry,  _ yeah,”  _ and it’s a pathetic whine, really, but he can’t help it. His body is standing on-end, and he’s alternating between fucking himself back onto Harry’s stupid, good fingers and fucking the mattress, so he doesn’t care about pathetic pleading really.

Harry grunts before emptying him yet again, and Louis can hear the satisfying sound of Harry reaching for the lube. He shuffles some things around in the drawer, before looking at Louis and asking “d’you want to use a rubber, L-”

“No, fuck no,” Louis pleads, gripping Harry’s bicep. Harry bites his lip before nodding, leaning back and Louis hears the squelch of Harry slicking himself up. 

He gasps as Harry pulls his body up, immediately taking both Louis’ wrists into one of his hands and gripping them to the small of Louis’ back. He guides Louis to spread his thighs around Harry’s own and  _ oh,  _ Harry’s blunt tip is pressing into his hungry hole.

He whimpers, body arching uselessly against Harry’s hard chest as he takes in Harry’s thick, hot length, rim spasming and he wriggles the rest of the way down, arse burning. He doesn't care, though. It’s been so long, he wants to remember if he’s going to have to wait that long again.

“So,” Harry whispers near his ear after a moment of them getting used to the far-away feeling, and his voice is rough and Louis is  _ so  _ turned on the tears verging on his eyes are near to falling, “does that offer of me taking you still stand?”

“Fuck,” Louis whines, wriggling his hips and they both moan at how he might’ve just pierced himself down onto harry further, “yes, yes it does, please, just  _ move-” _

The air in his lungs are knocked out as Harry grips his waist and wrists tighter and begins to fuck up into his pliant body steadily, thick, slow drags of his cock rucking louis’ body on his lap. Louis can’t breathe, literally now, each thrust inside him making him lose another breath. 

“How’sit feel, darling?” Harry husks into his ear, and Louis would reply with another helpless  _ ‘fuck’  _ if he could, but he just whimpers and Harry chuckles darkly into his flushing ear. It seems to be the only response he needs anyway to fuck into Louis faster, and he does so.

He bends Louis over quickly, and Louis is dizzy at the quick moment but intrigued at How Harry’s still got a grip on his waist and both his wrists. It’s all he has the time to think about before Harry begins fucking him again; not slow and steady anymore but fast and quick and ruthless. He presses his lips to the wings of Louis’ shoulderblades and kisses them gently before nipping at them, and his hips slap sharp against Louis’ arse cheeks, making them bounce. Louis whines, fucking back onto Harry’s cock as he slows down for a minute, licking at the sweat collecting at the curve of Louis’ neck before resuming on.

“Look at you, Lou, fuck, taking me in so good. You feel so tight,  _ fuck,”  _ and he accentuates the word with a thrust, “I could barely think without you, how did you manage?”

“I thought-” he stutters as Harry thrusts into him again, just pressing against his prostate, and his thighs begin to tremble again, “thought ‘bout you a lot,  _ Harry,”  _ and he whines as Harry slows down his brutal pace again, fucking Louis slower now. He keeps Louis’ wrists tight in his grip as Louis whimpers “can I touch-myself, please-?”

“No.” Harry kisses Louis’ neck sloppily, fucking into him faster again, inching more and more until he’s rucking Louis’ knees up higher the bed and Louis’ body is shaking with the exertion of keeping himself up.

“Then you touch me-”

“Can only come on my cock, babe,” Harry says simply, and Louis’ hole clenches around him as he lets out a choked sob. Harry’s hip continue to work up into him as he brings one hand round and cups it around Louis’ shaking throat, resulting in Louis nearly choking right then.

“Harry, Harry, Har _ ry,”  _ he chants, like it’s his mantra and Harry growls into the damp skin of his back  _ “mine”  _ and Louis’ coming so hard then his whole body jerks underneath Harry’s much larger frame, cock twitching and spurting out thick streaks of come all over his tummy and the softest spot of skin over his thighs. 

His body gives out then, his upper torso falling down to the bed and his thighs nearly crumbling and even though he’s utterly spent, he pushes weakly back onto Harry and he’s so tight and hot and  _ slick  _ Harry messily fucks into the heat between his thighs once more before pulling out sloppily, taking his free hand and fisting it over his cock twice before coming all over the shuddering back of Louis’ arse and thighs.

As soon as Harry lets go of Louis’ wrists the older boy collapses onto the sheets in a mess of come, saliva and sweat. His chest is heaving and he takes quick, deep pants of air to fill his lungs again.

Harry rolls onto the side of him, wrapping his taut arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him in closer. louis’ thighs shift and he whines because he feels so sensitive, the small rubbing of skin jolts through his body. Harry makes a small, sympathetic noise before pressing his thumbs into Louis’ thimble waist gently and kissing his sweaty temple.

“I love you,” he whispers there, and Louis smiles softly, bringing a hand up to card through Harry’s waves.

“I love you too, but I needa go.” He tries to sit up but Harry holds him tighter and tugs him back down. Louis yelps, looking at Harry.

“Haz-”

“It’s fine, Lou. I told you we have time today.” He snuggles Louis closer and Louis blinks.

“Where’re your parents?”

“‘m not sure, but they aren’t comin’ back til ‘morrow.” He looks up at Louis then, eyes dark.

“So stay,”’ he mumbles, and show me you love me.”

Louis sighs happily. “Okay.”

~

(Louis stays and they cuddle for a bit before taking a bath together. They go down to the kitchen and Harry makes late-night stir fry, standing between Louis’ legs while Louis sits on the counter in only one of Harry’s shirts and some briefs. Tasting the spices that Harry tests out on the younger boys mouth just makes Louis realize that the varied saying of ‘ _ sometimes love is hard but worth it’  _ is the most truthful thing he’s ever had the grace to hear.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for a tumblr anon prompt when we were all going through the whole "louis in lingerie" craze.

He likes both, really.

He likes going out in tight jeans and scoop neck white tees and scuffed Vans with a board tucked under his arm.

But.

He also likes how he is in his flat; surrounded by tiny white christmas lights and soft sheets and light pink roses and large teddy bears and he likes his tea in pretty China sets with flowers curled round them and sugary cakes with whorls of cream and sprinkles and he likes being called ‘ _ darling _ ’ or ‘ _ kitten _ ’ or ’ _ pretty girl _ ’, he  _ really  _ likes his  _ other  _ closet, full of sheer babydoll dresses and thigh highs attached to garters and panties and ribbons and just  _ cute  _ things; he does.

He doesn't talk about it to other people, of course, because other people won't exactly  _ appreciate  _ it but Harry; his boyfriend, absolutely  _ loves _ it.

He loves coming over to Louis’ flat and kissing Louis at the door, who greets him there all pretty and he loves drinking the tea Louis makes because he’s always had a knack for sugar-filled ones and he loves playing with Louis’ soft fringe and watching how Louis’ pretty, glossy cherry lips fall open and he loves arranging flowers in his hair to see him blush lightly and he loves cuddling him on the white sofa-couch because he feels delicate and lithe in his arms and he loves watching Louis move around his flat; loves watching him stand on his tiptoes to grab a plate and see his babydoll dress ride up to peek out his arse clad in knickers and loves seeing him brush back his hair as he climbs onto Harry’s lap and loves watching his little sock-clad feet pad around and he just loves it all and it makes Louis feel quite nice.

Sometimes, though, it all comes a bit much for Harry to control himself.

It’s hard, honestly.

Seeing Louis reach up all the time near counters and seeing his soft skin come into view just has him moving forward and bending the smaller boy over the counter, taking him there. He sees watching Louis crawl down the couch to grab a throw blanket to use while they watch a movie but then he sees his pretty arse and he pushes him down; eats him out until he’s reduced to quiet, soft whimpers. He watches as Louis gets onto his knees to sort out the roses and comes up behind him, rubs him behind the kitten ears he sometimes wears until Louis’ turned around and has his pretty mouth stretched around Harry’s cock obscenely, little hands behind his back as he lets Harry push into his throat just to watch his come streak across Louis’ cheeks and hear his hoarse, destroyed voice when it’s over.

What he might not have any particular control over most, though, is coming later during the evening to find Louis curled in the corner of his couch, lips parted and large sweater rucked up his little body as he fingers himself; rocks his hips down onto the digits as his cock fills up where it’s lying on his tummy and pants Harry’s name as they lock eyes.

Harry just groans, shuts the door and always picks Louis up gently; cradles him to his chest and carries him to the pretty bedroom where he lays Louis on the bed and resumes to wreck him; pins him down and spreads his legs, tears the delicate clothes off and fucks him hard, mumbling about how Louis’ such a bad girl and he’s been so corrupted as Louis clings to him and he loves pulling back later to grab a wet cloth and seeing Louis all curled up on the sheets, pouting adorably when he sees Harry move and he loves the way Louis snuggles a large teddy while he sleeps and mumbles little things about Harry and.

And because Harry loves it, Louis thinks he likes the way he is in his flat more than the other.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUGAR DADDDYYYYYYY (but u'd never be able to tell bc i never actually got to the sugaring.)

~

Harry thinks he had met Louis at the worst time possible; when he was nearing his nineteenth birthday. He was all soft, tan skin and bubblegum lips and deceptively innocent blue eyes behind black frames, and it was really everything needed to take a man down  _ hard _ .

Harry hadn't been an exception, but looking back on it now, he thinks he’s alright with that.

~

Harry’s eyes are closed, but he can feel the sunlight streaming over him fade as a warm little body climbs on top of him.

“Harry.” There’s a finger poking into his bare side now, and he grumbles, turning his head to the side. The body on him huffs a little breath, before flattening their hand out and pressing it over his heart. 

“Harry, wake up,” the voice pleads, and it’s high and sweet, and Harry probably wouldn't be able to deny that voice anything, even a few more moments of precious sleep he so rarely has.

His eyes blink open, bleary as they focus on Louis, who’s straddling his hips, pouting down at him. The white dress shirt Harry had worn the night before is draped over his torso, thin material exposing where his little nipples poke through, and the slight pouch of his tummy. Harry thinks it’s much too early for this.

“Babe,” he greets, voice rough and sleep-addled. Louis shivers a bit at its tone, letting out a small, breathy noise, thighs tightening around Harry’s hips.

“Wake up,” he says quietly, a moment later, just as Harry was about to get lost in the gold light filtering over him. “It’s such a lovely day, and I wouldn't want to waste it here.” He pauses, before muttering “plus, you have one of those dumb parties today, so.”

Harry wants to ask for more sleep, but then Louis twines their fingers together and adds a  _ please? _ , and he’s fucked.

“Yeah, darling, alright.” His free hand smooths over Louis’ thigh, running up his side and to his chin, pulling him down slowly for a lingering kiss. Louis’ mouth tastes like mixed berries and sweetener.

When Louis pulls back, his cheeks are flushed, lips on their way to the pretty cherry colour Harry loves on them. He leans in and kisses the tip of Louis’ nose, murmuring “how about you go and get yourself ready for a shower, and I’ll be there in a moment.”

The corner of Louis’ mouth twists down a bit. “Promise you won't go back to bed, though.”

Harry nods, holding his hand out. “Pinky promise?”

Louis just rolls his eyes with a half-laugh before clambering off Harry, feet making a small thump as they hit the carpet. He then tugs the hem of Harry’s shirt down from where it had been bunching up and scuttles out the room, hands curled into tiny fists at his sides.

Harry watches him until he’s out of view, and he takes a few moments to clear his mind, before pushing the comforter down and getting up on his elbows, stepping down from the bed.

He yawns, scratching the strip of skin over his boxers as he makes his way into the master bath, stopping in the doorway.

Louis hasn't got the bath running, or even the shower. He’s actually still dressed in Harry’s shirt, but he’s sitting on the bare part of the counter, legs spread as he teases the tip of his index finger against his clenching hole, fringe falling into his eyes and obstructing Harry’s view of him.

Harry doesn't say anything, just watches as Louis’ breathing hitches when he pushes the finger in to the crook, and he jolts when Harry muses “I’m not exactly sure that’s what I meant when I said get ready, darling.”

Louis peeks up, using his free hand to sweep the hair away from his eyes. “I wanted you to-”

He falters at that, closing his thighs and blushing. “Fuck me.”

Harry never lets anyone know he’s affected- by anything- and he doesn't show it now, either, just thumbs at the corner of his lips and reaches out to rest his hand on Louis’ knee, squeezing gently, even though every nerve he has is on-edge now. “Well, better hurry up.”

~

Louis always sounds the best when Harry’s got him pressed up against a surface; in this case, the slick shower wall, Louis’ legs wrapped around his waist, breathy little moans and hot puffs of air hitting his ear each time he slides back into his wet warmth.

All in all, he personally thinks it’s a good way to start the morning.

~

Louis sits on the countertop as Harry opens cupboards and peers, trying to decide what Louis would want to eat before the small boy pipes up himself. It’s a lost cause, though, as a moment later Louis muses “pancakes. With chocolate chips.”

Harry glances at him over his shoulder, and Louis’ staring at him coyly, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. The loose shirt he’s wearing now is slipping down his shoulders again, and honestly, Harry would ditch everything he’d been planning on doing and fuck him right there.

He ignores that thought, though, and gives Louis raised eyebrows. “Alright. But on one condition.”

Louis looks at him expectantly as he pushes himself off the counter, padding to the pantry. Harry watches how his shirt rides up over his bum as he opens it up and reaches for the highest shelf. “Yes?”

“Tonight. You can’t misbehave, baby.”

Louis gives him a faux-innocent look, eyes wide, curling his index finger under his mouth. “Excuse  _ me _ . I’d never,  _ ever _ misbehave in front of your peers.”

He really doesn't, most of the time. He’s respectful, and greets them sweetly, keeps his arm tucked under Harry’s, clutching him and stays near. It’s just.

When they’d be sitting at their designated seats to eat, he’d place his hand on Harry’s chair, before darting out to rest on his crotch. He’d push out his foot and swipe the tip of his expensive Oxfords on Harry’s ankle, bunching up the hem of Harry’s slacks. Once, he’d dropped-  _ dropped _ \- his fork and had excused himself to lean down and pick it up. He hadn't come up as quick as Harry had expected, though, and two seconds later there was a human boy nudging Harry’s legs apart and little hands running up to his flies.

(And that’s not saying that Harry dislikes it when he’s particularly stressed; sitting in his home-office chair, running a hand through his hair and Louis crawls underneath his mahogany desk to suck him off and drain the tension, it’s just better when there isn't half the upper Manhattan society  _ around _ Harry.)

“Besides, you always seem to like it,” Louis points out. He toddles back to Harry and drops the bag of chocolate chips on the counter, before looking up at him under his lashes. “You  _ do _ , right?”

He’s so good at turning the tables. Harry sighs, and ducks down, kissing his forehead. “Of course I do, but we barely get away with it, doll.”

Louis nods, beaming up at him as he grabs a bowl. “I’ll be good.”

~


	7. Chapter 7

the thing is, louis knows he’s loud. really loud, actually.

trying to stay quiet in any situation is hard for him, so when he’s on the tour bus, after a concert, and he’s buzzing with energy and feels antsy and hyped-up and fidgety, like he needs a release, it’s even harder. he never enjoys when they can’t stay at an hotel for a few days, after a show.

he barely speaks to the lads as they load onto the bus, arms strewn over each other, murmurs about the show, who’s hungry, things they talk about often. he just slips away from niall’s side and heads down to the bunks, already feeling how his cock has fattened in his jeans, pressing against his flies. he drops a palm down to cup himself lightly after looking behind himself, over his shoulder to check no one’s there, and lets out a small noise.

he shucks off his hoodie and toes off his shoes beside his bag, reaching down to grab the small foil packet of lube in the front zip, before quickly clambering up into his bunk and pulling the curtain closed after himself.

louis hears the boys settling into the couches and turning the television on, and he feels slightly more relaxed as he lays down, head settling onto the pillow as he shimmies out of his skinnies and shoves them to the corner of the small space with his toes. he’s too riled-up to remove his shirt, so he just rucks it up his stomach, underneath his neck so he has a clear view of his small, pink hardened nipples and where his cock is laying, full and swollen against the soft swell of his stomach, bumping precome onto his skin as he shifts his thighs apart. louis clenches his hole reflexively, letting out a puff of air.

he blindly grapples for the lube, reaching one hand down to feel around his hip until he’s caught it. he then sticks one foil edge in the corner of his mouth, biting down on it and tearing it open as he uses his free hand to lightly brush over his cock, eyes clenching shut at the feeling.

the lube trickles down his wrist in shiny globs as he hastily slicks up his fingers and palms, trying to calm himself down before he slides a hand down his belly to wrap around his cock, feeling it pulse into his palm, full of blood and thick. he then nudges his legs apart as far as they can go, one knee pressed against the wall of his bunk, the other nearly sticking out the curtain as he teases two fingertips over his spasming hole, stomach tightening as he pushes them in and gasps loudly.

he’s too tight for them both, honestly, but he hasn't had any time to do this recently, and his body is hungry for it now, hips uncontrollably fucking his pink cock up into his welcoming fist as he sinks the fingers inside himself to the knuckle, mouth moving over nonsensical words and lashes fluttering like broken butterfly wings at the relief.

he begins to screw them into himself properly after a moment, stretching them out and hooking them inside himself, mewling pitifully when he fucks them back in with the intent of brushing over his prostate while fully knowing they’re too short to reach. he knows it’ll be hard to get himself off with just fingers because of that fact, so he begins to stroke his cock quicker, wishing there was a different hand on him, large and warm and calloused- a man’s hand, and as his fingers fuck himself faster, and as he hitches his knees up to his chest to slide them in easier, he wishes there was a man’s fingers in him, then huge and swollen and cramming up into his tight pink hole, stuffing him full of cock, owning him, and he wishes there was a man’s hand over his mouth to keep him quiet so he doesn't have to do the work by himself.

he’s trying hard now, trying so, so hard to keep himself quiet as he fucks himself on his trembling fingers, tears lining up on the lashes under his eyes, getting caught in the fine hairs, and he’s begging himself to stay quiet, but the whimpers and whines slip out his swollen red lips. no matter how hard he sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip they won't stay in.

he feels his stomach tighten, and it’s always like this: at the beginning, he’s so desperate to come, to release, but when he can feel himself reach peaking, he doesn't want it to stop, ever. he can’t control it now, though, and his wrist moves faster, hand stroking his cock quickly. he pulls his fingers out of himself and feels his hole clench around nothing, and it hurts now but he reaches up and thumbs over his nipple, moaning, before he tugs it and then he’s spilling messily over his fist and tummy, rocking his hips up into his hand, hole spasming again, tears spilling, a mewing noise falling from him in pleasure.

he doesn't move for two minutes afterwards; keeps his eyes shut and pants heavily, hand still wrapped around his softening cock, tears dangling off his chin, legs open awkwardly.

he’d stay like that for a bit longer, but then the curtain is pulling back a bit and his eyes flicker open in surprise and horror, meeting the other boys’ stunned faces. from where he’s laying, he can see the swell of harry’s crotch, as he’s standing the farthest away.

‘hi,’ he croaks, and yawns, tugging the curtain closed again and rolling onto his side, waiting for his sensitivity to fade so he can go for round two.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO this was actually part of a longer fic i had posted here once upon a time called "you belong to the temporary moments of a dream" in which harry, a like 20-something yr old writer who lives in a cozy cabin in the woods somewhere who orders a ~love rental~ boy named louis whos like 19 and cute and the thing is I LOST THE OTHER LIKE 6K OF THIS STORY so ur all just plopped right in the middle of it but who cares!!! its cute. its domestic. theres a cat. global warming. nothing matters. #rip

**you belong to the temporary moments of a dream (2/2)**

It’s been two weeks since Louis ended up at his door. Harry’s been waiting for this moment for half of it.

He’s laying on the chaise outside, glasses perched on his nose, fingers skimming over the keyboard of his laptop when Louis toddles out of the cabin, his arms full of Charlotte, his eyes narrowed at Harry. He doesn't even shut the door before he makes his way over to Harry, picks his laptop up with one hand, puts it on the side table before straddling his thighs and sitting down heavily.

“If you’re not gonna fuck me, then you might as well entertain me, sir.”

Harry ignores him for a moment, running his hands over the curve of Louis’ sides, eyes drifting from his thighs to his half-hard prick, to his soft chest, where his little pink nipples poke through the thin material of his shirt. “Bored?”

“Very,” Louis replies dully, stroking a hand through Charlotte’s fur. “Kitty is bored as well.” He’s refused to call Charlotte by her name since Harry told him what it was, saying that  _ kitty _ fits her better and Harry shouldn't have a choice in naming his future children.

Harry hums for a moment, thumbing at Louis’ nipples. Louis tries to ignore it, he can tell, but after a moment, he lets out a whimpering noise and curls in on himself, his thin fingers wrapping around Harry’s wrist to tug his hand away. His prick is slowly filling up, and Harry can’t help his smirk.

“Alright,” he sighs, dropping his hands back to Louis’ waist, “we can have a picnic.”

“That--” Louis frowns, letting Charlotte escape from his hold and crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s boring.”

“By the river? You can even have a swim, if you’d like.”

His eyes widen and it’s like his whole face brightens up, and he nods twice, his hands dropping to sit on top of Harry’s own. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

Harry’s nods back, slipping a hand from Louis’ waist and trailing it over to his navel, before wrapping it round his cock. “Do you wanna come?”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“Not yet.”

“Then no.” He slaps Harry’s hand away and pulls his shirt back over himself, standing up. “I can take care of it meself.”

Harry watches him stalk back into the cottage, hips swinging, his tail swishing between his thighs. He then closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the chaise, sighing at the warmth hitting his skin, and lets himself take a small break before there’s a loud thumping noise and Charlotte’s bolting out of the cottage as Louis screams in the background.

  
  
  
  


After Harry finishes cleaning the pot plant Louis spilled, he fills an old picnic basket he and Gemma had used when they visited their grandfather before heading upstairs to put on different clothes. He’s stepping on the landing when Louis opens the bathroom door, cheeks flushed red, body flushed pink, tummy covered in come.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “I ought to take you over my knee for that.”

Louis’ eyes widen, and his mouth drops open, like he’s about to argue against that, when Harry shakes his head and heads into the bedroom. Louis’ right behind him, arms crossed, face defiant, the afterglow of his orgasm fading out. “You’re probably into that, weirdo.”

“S’not just me,” he points out, pulling a white shirt from the closet. “I’d bet you’d like it, too, with an arse on you like that.”

Louis turns around and slaps his bum, and Harry chokes a bit. “Well,  _ I  _ reckon you’d like it  _ more _ .”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, though his voice breaks into a hoarse croak halfway through, betraying his unaffected demeanor. “Now put some proper clothes on.”

“What? No. I’m going swimming.”

“You are, but the forest ground will be hard on your feet, love.” He pulls out the gray shirt he tried to offer Louis a couple weeks ago. “C’mon.”

Louis snatches the shirt from Harry, uses it to wipe off his tummy, and dashes out the room before harry can register what just happened.

Harry stands there for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, arm outstretched, until he hears the front door slam. He then tries his best to get ready as quick as he can, shoving his feet into a pair of boots before he heads downstairs.

“Louis?” he calls out, stepping out onto the porch, the picnic basket tight in his hand. Louis’ sitting on his chaise, pointedly ignoring him as he drums his fingers on his thigh.

“Louis, you’re really going to get hurt if you don't put some shoes on,” he says slowly, walking towards him. Louis scoffs.

“Then you can carry me.”

  
  
  
  


Harry didn't think he actually  _ would _ .

“Faster,” Louis orders, arms tight around Harry’s neck, thighs warm against his sides. Harry sighs, and tries not to get them both killed by accidentally stumbling over the thick roots of a thirty year-old tree.

“Did you not hear me?” Louis asks, annoyed, and Harry glances at him, hitching him higher up on his back before continuing on the path.

“We’re almost there. Have a little patience.”

“I haven't swam in  _ years _ , arsehole. I’m excited. Pardon  _ me _ .”

Louis probably means it sarcastically, but it still hurts Harry a bit, makes him wonder how Louis even ended up in the position of work he’s in. He doesn't look like the type of person to open up easily, though.

“Sorry,” he replies, and he begins to walk faster, stepping over roots, making sure not to let ivy brush against Louis’ bare skin, makes sure not to crush any healthy plants and flowers. He can hear the rushing of the river with each step, and he tips his head up to see Louis’ excited smile.

“Are we there?” he asks, when the water becomes impossibly loud. Harry walks around a few trees until it’s there in their sight.

“Well, now we are.” He helps Louis slide down his back slowly, watching him scuttle right over to the bank, getting down on his knees and peering in.

Harry watches him dip his hand in, his cheeks turning up as he grins impossibly wide, before he slowly sets the basket on the floor and sits down beside it. Briefly after, he’s pelted with a splash of water in the face.

“You gonna swim too?” Louis asks, crawling over to him with a wicked smile, pulling the dress shirt off and draping it over Harry’s lap. And, like. Harry’s not a stranger towards nudity-- loves walking around with his glory hanging out as well, sometimes-- but honestly.

Louis doesn't even bat an eyelash at the fact he’s on his knees, naked, in public. With a  _ tail _ .

“Nah. This was enough for me.” He rubs the back of his hand over his face to swipe some water off, unsuccessful. “But I need you to swim a lot, so you won't have any energy left when we get home.”

“I think that’s a far-out order,” Louis replies coolly. “You don't know  _ nearly _ how much stamina I’ve got,  _ sir. _ ”

And then he’s up and running over to the river, tail swinging, splashing in with a shout. Harry feels droplets of water sprinkle onto him, and he wrinkles his nose, chuckling.

“I’m a mermaid!” Louis yells out, and Harry glances up to where he’s already swam out far, pressing his legs together and splashing them back in the water. “Be my prince.”

“M’not really prince material,” Harry says slowly. “I’ve been told I’m more of a stable boy, in a royal concept.”

Louis actually laughs at that. “I can see it, yeah.” He then dives under the water, but it’s shallow enough that Harry can see his tail float up to the surface and his hands each time he pushes forward, before he resurfaces and flops onto his back, starfishing himself out to float evenly.

“If I were in a royal concept, I’d be a prince,” he sighs. “I’d be very good at it.”

“You would be,” Harry agrees, and repeats it when Louis lifts his head from the water, giving him furrowed brows. “A great prince.”

“No need to confirm it. I already know.” He drifts for a while, before flipping over and swimming back to Harry, resting his elbows on the bank of the river. “I’m hungry. What did you make?”

“Didn't really make anything, because it’s nearly supper time, but I brought muffins and water.”

“You’re mean.” He stills scuttles out from the water and crawls to Harry, reaching for the basket with watery hands.

Harry thinks about swatting his hands away, but in the end he lets Louis reach into the basket himself and soak all the muffins as he takes one for himself, holding it in two hands and munching on it like a squirrel as he glares at Harry over the flumpy top of it. Harry gives him his most charming grin as he finishes his own damp muffin.

They stay at the river until evening falls, and Louis swings the basket back and forth as he hikes ahead of Harry on the basis of  _ ‘if I can’t see the things on the path that will hurt me feet, then they won't hurt me.’ _

Harry ends up having to carry him the rest of the way to the cottage as he cuts his feet and the backs of his ankles multiple times, moaning about how much it hurts while staring right at Harry with narrow, unaffected eyes.

He’s literally a fox.

“Why did they give you a fox tail?” he asks him the moment they’re back in the cottage, carrying him up the staircase as Charlotte nips at Harry’s heels.

“They told me it’s ‘cause if I were an animal, I’d be a fox.” He’s picking under his nails, and Harry’s noticed this recently, that sometimes Louis just doesn't care about what they’re talking about and will occupy himself with something until it’s over. “Are you going to fix my feet?”

“Yeah.” He sits Louis on the counter of the bathroom sink, pulling the lid of the toilet seat down and perching himself on it before wrapping a hand around Louis’ ankle and pulling it towards him. “Look at this mess.”

“Fuck me and I’ll never walk on bare ground again.”

“That won't do me any good. I’ll have to carry you round like a poppet.” He motions towards the first-aid kit, and Charlotte scampers over to it, biting the handle and dragging it over to him. “Good girl.”

“I thought only puppies did that,” Louis marvels, making grabby hands at Charlotte. He can’t move to pick her up, though, and Charlotte shrinks away from him, hissing.

“Are you underestimating the knowledge a cat holds?” Harry asks in his best astonished voice. Louis rolls his eyes.

“No,  _ you’re _ underestimatyaaa a cat’s knowledge.”

“What?”

“I don't know what word you said. I tried my best. Stop being so rude.” For a foot that looks so bruised, it sure hurts when Louis jams it against Harry’s chest in annoyance.

Harry finishes bandaging his foot quickly, whining about how much his ribs hurt as Louis clamps his hands over his ears and screams, and he carries Louis back downstairs, where they watch Harry’s dvd of  _ The Titanic. _

Louis keeps gasping and cooing and trying to hold back his tears during the movie, and he refuses to go to sleep until Harry reenacts the part where Jack and Rose are in the water.

  
  
  
  


Louis spends most of the morning inside Harry’s library. At first, when Harry finds him in there, he doesn't bother him, just waits for him to become bored as he takes a mug of coffee to his office so he can finish up the first chapter for his novel.

He gets into writing where everything else fades out and he doesn't take his eyes off the screen until hours have passed, and ideas filter into his mind like a parade on a water slide, and when he snaps out of it the time on the corner of the screen says 3:34.

He stretches his arms out and yawns, takes a sip of his coffee and spits it back in when he finds out it’s uncomfortably cold. He then heads downstairs to find Louis, who surprisingly hasn't bothered him yet.

He wanders into the kitchen and then the living room, checks the yard and the patio, then heads back inside the cottage and upstairs, checking the bedrooms and the bathrooms before looking into the library.

He’s immensely confused when he finds Louis on his leather lounger, not asleep, but holding his copy of  _ Oliver Twist  _ on his knees, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed, eyes wide.

“Lou?” he calls from the door, and Louis jolts, the book slipping onto the couch beside him as he sits up on his elbows.

“I was  _ into  _ it,” he whines as Harry steps in, “s’gonna take me years to get back into it, stupid.”

“Remember when you called me sir?” Harry asks dryly. “But it’s a good read. Won't take you too long to get back into.”

“It’s sad,” Louis frowns, picking it back up and making room for Harry on the couch. “Why did you buy this? It’s awful you find it interesting.”

“It’s my mum’s,” Harry explains patiently. “She told me about how her teacher assigned it to her when she was younger, and she enjoyed it, thought I would, too. It’s fictional, so don't feel too sad.”

“What’s fictional?”

“Means it never happened, isn't real. The author made it up in his mind, and wrote it out for people to read.” Harry doesn't protest when Louis burrows into his side, frowning. “People liked it so much it got a movie adaptation.”

“Why’d it get a movie?”

“Sometimes, when a book is good enough, they make it out into a movie so people can enjoy it again, without the pain of reading it. Nowadays, they just make a book a movie if it’s generally popular, which is a bit sad, innit.”

“I dunno. Was The Titanic a book, too?”

“No,” Harry sighs, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him in closer. He’s nearly always naked, but he’s never cold, always a ball of heat beside Harry. “Movies aren't always books.”

“Have your books got a movie?”

Harry bites his bottom lip, feeling his interest in their topic fade. “We’ve got an offer.”

He can tell Louis still doesn't get it, but strangely, he doesn't push it. He just asks, “why do you write books, sir?”

Harry’s hand rubs over Louis’ shoulder slowly as he contemplates his answer. “I... I write because when i was younger, I was a bookworm. It sort of made me an outcast, but I didn't mind, because honestly, I was never a fan of speaking or hanging out with others.”

Louis tips his head up to look at him, but doesn't cut into it, so he keeps going. “It didn't mean that I never wanted friends, or I never wanted the thrill of being a teenager. I daydreamed a lot about not being so shy, or more outgoing, or being rebellious, so I could sneak out of my bedroom at night and end up in the principal’s office when I pranked a rude teacher. Thinking about it as an adult, teenagers are stupid, and do things even more stupid than they are. But at the time, you know that those years are all you’ve got for fun and freedom, and sometimes you try to live so hard you end up doing nothing.”

Louis tucks his face into the crook of his neck and exhales shakily, hot and short, his hands coming to rest on his thighs. “And?”

“I never had those years, and now that I’m an adult, it’s too late. That’s how I ended up writing. I loved books, translating to me loving writing, and I wanted to have a taste of the teenage life I never had. That’s what I write about.”

Louis pulls back and meets his eyes. “M’sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he says, grinning down at him softly, and he almost says  _ you weren't luckier _ , before he catches himself. “S’alright.”

Louis stares up at him for a moment longer, eyes drooping. “Can I kiss you?”

Harry’s breath hitches, and his hand pauses on Louis’ shoulder. “I-- sure.”

Louis smiles, his eyes still half-lidded and liquidy, and he shifts around until he knees beside Harry, bracing himself with two firm hands on his thighs, tipping his head forward.

He’s so close, and Harry feels a bit like when he was near to the people he used to have a crush on when he was younger, and he raises his eyebrows until Louis’ leaning in and pressing their lips together.

It’s a short, literal peck, and Louis draws back as soon as their mouths touch, looking at Harry with wide eyes before breaking into a grin. “That was my first one. I’m already pretty swell, aren't I?”

“Well,” Harry hums, “that wasn't really much to go by, was it?” He leans back on the couch and folds an arm behind his head, his other snaking itself around Louis’ waist, pulling him in.

Louis goes easily, which is surprising, but the pissed-off look on his face isn't as much. “Sorry, I don't give kisses out easily. I might if you’d fuck me.”

“How about I make you cookies tomorrow?” Harry proposes, and it’s ridiculously endearing, how his expression immediately becomes conflicted.

“Not those weird health ones.”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“Chocolate.” And then he’s cupping Harry’s cheeks in his warm little hands, swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him and kisses him again.

He’s not spectacular at it yet, but Harry finds out that that’s much hotter than kissing someone more experienced. He lets Louis lead for a moment, before he goes pliant and lets Harry tip his head down and kiss him harder, whining into it, his hands smoothing up Harry’s chest before he wraps his arms around his neck.

Louis pulls back a moment later, breathing hard, staring at Harry, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Harry smooths his hands down his sides, resting them in the curve of his waist, and smiles up at him.

“Can you tell now?” Louis asks, licking his lips a second after. He stares down at Harry like he’s actually nervous, and Harry feels a furrow pull at his brow as he shifts him on his lap.

“You’ve really never kissed someone before?”

“No,” Louis shrugs, a hand coming up to sweep his fringe away from his eyes. “I dated a few people before this job, but, like, middle school romance and stuff. And believe it or not, not many people are enthusiastic about kissing a prostitute.”

Harry blinks, slowly, his thumbs pressing into the dip of Louis’ waist. “I-- um.”

“Sorry. Ignore me,” Louis dismisses, sighing. “So, was I good at it or what?”

Harry stares up at him for a while more, before nodding jerkily, like snapping out of a trance. “Yes. You were pretty good. But. You might need more practice.”

“I’m okay with that,” Louis grins, and he looks devilish. Harry pulls him in by the waist until they’re pressed flush together, and proceeds to give him a bit more practice.

  
  
  
  


When Harry wakes up the next day, there’ actually a warm body pressed against him, and it’s not Charlotte. He twists around in a sleepy, confused daze to see Louis’ clinging to his back, his cheek smushed against his naked shoulder muscles, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He looks good in the thin flare of sunlight streaming in, all golden honey colour and warm and little.

“Morning,” Harry yawns, when he stirs, blinking one eye open, before frowning.

“Shut up,” he says, and then snuggles against his back again.

Harry should really be used to it at this point.

“If you wake up early, we can bake those cookies right after breakfast,” he offers. Last night, after Louis decided their kissing practice was over, he’d clung to Harry like a koala, yelling that they have to bake his cookies, lest Harry wanted the world to be overrun by Louis’ secret zombie clan.

Harry’s still in disbelief that he actually got Louis to bed without cookies. Or sex.

Louis cracks an eye open, now, and it stares straight at Harry. “Will you fuck me if I get up?”

“No. I just said I’ll make you cookies.”

“Good lad! I’m never getting out of bed. Fuck you.” Louis rolls onto his other side, and the comforter tugs underneath Harry before slipping off of Louis, revealing planes of gold skin.

And-- nothing else.

“Where’s your shirt?” Harry gasps, shoving a hand under the comforter to see if it slipped off during the night. Louis giggles.

“I got hot last night,” he says innocently.

“Impossible. I always check the weather before we go to bed, and it was a cool night. There’s no way that shirt made you hot, either, being awfully thin.”

“Shut up and check out my arse.” Louis exaggerates it by arching his back, his plush bum pushing out, half-hidden by the thick fur of his tail. “S’nice, innit?”

Harry frowns.

“It is nice. Extremely nice.” He shoves the sheets to the foot of the bed, placing a hand on Louis’ hip and tugging him onto his back, pinning him down to the mattress with two firm hands on his thimble shoulders. “Want me to fuck it?”

“Yes!” Louis claps in delight. “You’re finally catching on!”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head before he retreats to in between Louis’ thighs, shoving them apart. Louis hitches himself on his elbows, looking down at him with a quirked brow, and Harry only grins at him before yanking him down by his thin ankles, pressing his thumbs into the dip of the bones and making him yelp.

“I’ll fuck it,” he says brightly, as Louis wheezes and stares up at him like he’s bloody lost it. He probably has, and it’s all this awful, awfully beautiful boys’ fault.

He keeps a firm hand on Louis’ hip and grabs the base of the tail, glancing up at him. “Tell me if it hurts.”

Louis doesn't question it, just spreads his thighs wider,  _ God _ , the fucker, and nods. Harry pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth and pulls, as gently as he can, and the noise Louis lets out as the plug nudges its way out is  _ glorious _ . Harry wonders if he can fuck noises prettier than that out of him.

Louis gasps when it pops out, his hole clenching up immediately afterwards, and Harry presses the pad of his thumb against the smooth pink pucker, pushes it in and revels in how Louis’ body sucks it up.

“When did you last clean yourself, pup?” he asks, and Louis makes a noise, his little hands curling into the sheets. Harry squeezes his waist, demanding an answer, and nearly misses it with how his attention snaps down to how his fingers sink into Louis’ fleshy hip.

“Last night. It’s, like, a rule to keep-- ugh-- down there clean.” He squirms against the sheets, and Harry’s eyes drift from his hip to his cock, half-hard against his navel, leaving shiny wet spots on the softness of his belly.

Harry doesn't reply, just lowers himself in between Louis’ thighs until his chest is pressed to the bed and his breathing constricts, and it feels like years since he’s last been in this position, boy or girl in front of him. God, he’s really been out of the loop. He wonders if he even remembers how to do it well enough.

Louis gives him a look, and he guesses now’s the best time to find out.

He leans forward, pressing his face into the soft heat between Louis’ thighs, his lips brushing against the thinner skin. Louis immediately brings a hand

  
  
  


He’s most definitely still got it.

He lifts his head up from in between Louis’ thighs what seems like hours later, fingers digging into the thick flesh of his trembling thighs, eyes falling to where he’s came all over his stomach in a small translucent puddle.

He’s making small, whimpery noises, his head tipped back, chin wet. His hands are fisted in the sheets, and his thighs are nearly pressing against his cheeks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smirks against the give of his thigh.

“Good?”

Louis’ eyes flutter shut, lashes dark on his supple cheek. “Shut up.”

He nudges Harry’s shoulder with his foot, and Harry chinhands as he watches Louis try to get out of the bed on shaky legs, tumbling onto the floor right away.

“Alright?” he coos, and Louis sticks a middle finger up from the floor, grunting as he pulls himself up.

Watching Louis try to keep himself steady as he slowly steps to the bathroom is a lot like watching a newborn lamb stumble around on unsure legs. It’s cute. Even Charlotte seems to think so, shocking Harry when she snuggles underneath his loose arm and watching Louis toddle around with hooded eyes.

He finally makes his way into the bathroom, and Harry sighs, pressing his face into the sheets, tilting it to the side and peering up at Charlotte with one eye.

“I want to keep him,” he whispers, smoothing a hand down Charlotte’s curved back, smiling at her content meow. “D’you?”

He takes the way she leaps off the bed and scurries out the room when Louis exits the bathroom as a yes.

  
  
  
  


“You have to eat breakfast before we make cookies.”

“Is that a law?”

“Not quite.”

“Then I don't hafta.” Louis stretches on tiptoe and opens up a cupboard, reaching inside and grabbing a wide bowl. “Where is the flour?”

Harry blocks his way to the pantry. “Breakfast.”

“Can we have pancakes again?”

“Pancakes before cookies?”

“Yeah!”

“No.”

Louis shoves himself into Harry’s chest, placing his hands flat on his torso and trying to push him out of the way. “Then I don't want breakfast.”

“Louis, it’s not healthy--”

Louis looks up at him, then, and his eyes are soft and hurt, and he’s actually got his bottom lip pushed out.  _ “Please?” _

He realizes then that Louis is the living, breathing item of the quote  _ look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it. _

Ten minutes later, Harry’s wiped down the island countertop and sprinkled it with homestyle flour, mixing the batter for the cookies with a whisk as Louis smacks his hands down onto the counter, the dust flying into the air.

“Why am I mixing this?” Harry asks, grunting as it gets thicker and stiffer.

“I don't know how to whisk,” Louis replies animatedly, and smacks his hands onto the counter again, giggling as some flower sprinkles onto Harry’s nose. He refused to wear Harry’s extra apron, and his tan skin looks some sort of ethereal with the white dots all over them, and paired with his hair all spiky and soft and eyes threaded with sleep, he looks like a fae.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i THINK this was supposed to be domestic mpreg. well i guess we will never know.

Jeff sticks his head out between two pieces of wood Liam hammered in as bases, waving at Harry. “You’re free to go, Styles.”

Harry leans up and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand; it’s not surprising when Liam scoffs from somewhere behind him. “Sir, it’s not Styles, it’s Tomlinson-Styles.”

Harry winces as Jeff’s eyes widen and he gapes at him. “And when did this happen?”

“Well --” Harry starts, as Liam says, his voice loud, “one month ago, though we all found out a few days ago. Right, Harry?”

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes himself up from the floor, giving Jeff an apologetic smile before shooting a glare at Liam. “Li, we said we’re sorry, but --”

“You’re telling me about this tomorrow,” Jeff interrupts, “and by the way, when I say you’re free to go, I mean your mobile won't quit going off and I’m sure it’s Louis.”

“Oh, Haz, you should probably go see what your husband wants,” Liam says sarcastically, but he’s still got that smile on his face, that rare teasing one. Harry gives him a salute, middle finger up, and then ducks down the stairs and to the company’s trailer, heading for the locker where he stores his things.

His phone trills again as he rummages through his duffel bag for it, and when he finally finds it, there’s a litany of texts from Louis on the blinking screen.

_ Bring takeaway when u come home pls darling _

_ I KNOW I WAS SUPPOSED TO PREPARE SUPPER _

_ It’s just _

_ I had a lot of grading to do and I got tired sorry babe :(((((( _

He’s probably not very sorry, cackling as he texts/guilts Harry into bringing food home, but Harry finds he really doesn't mind much. He shrugs into his coat and slides his bag onto one shoulder, plans it out in his head -- he’ll take the bus to a stop planted right by the plaza with that new Indian restaurant that does takeaway, conveniently a few paces away from their flat.

He sends Louis a quick message before leaving --  _ got it, see you soon xx _

*

Harry’s gotten better at knowing exactly how to balance the bag of takeaway and drinks so he can still unlock the door, and he steps into the foyer as quiet as he can, because it’s not unusual for Louis to already have passed out, drooling on one of his students’ assignments.

What is unusual is for Louis to be standing by the door with a thick paperweight held above his head. He squints when Harry freezes in the doorway, blinking slowly before dropping his arms. “Oh” he says, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and yawning, “it’s just you.”

“Just me,” Harry confirms and presses the door back with one shoulder until it clicks shut. “You look tired,” he says as he hands the drink and bags over to Louis. Louis takes them and yawns again, nodding a little. His hair is sticking up in the odd way it gets after he’s run his hand through it repeatedly, the colours under his eyes just that bit darker, his jumper sliding off one shoulder. Harry’s jumper, actually.

“I am,” he says, waiting until Harry’s toed his boots off and hung his jacket up before heading back to the living room. “Been a long day, and, I dunno, but I feel like I get tired quicker when it’s cold out. Is that normal?”

“I think so,” Harry says, and nearly bumps against Louis when he stops suddenly, turning around, peering up at him. “Lou?”

“Your hair looks nice,” he says, shifting the food to the crook of one arm and reaching up to toussle Harry’s curls a little more. “Missed you.”

Harry smiles a bit, and leans in, pressing their foreheads together. That’s normal, for Louis to hide something with meaning behind an offhanded remark. Louis lowers his eyes, embarrassed like always. “I missed you too,” he whispers, running a hand over Louis’ arm. He’s cold. “Hungry?”

“Very,” Louis chirps, pulling back abruptly and heading to the couch. His cheeks are flushed, and if Harry wasn't so endeared he’d maybe tell him that he’s got a cowlick sticking up in the back. “Did you get me diet Coke?”

“I did,” he says, settling back on the sofa and stretching his arms out. His muscles feel tight, like they’re trying to tell him that there is definitely such a thing as too much heavy-lifting in one day. “I also got the milk bars.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Louis says with an accompanying fistpump. “I’ve been in the mood for days at this point.” He pushes aside the stacks of paper on the coffee table, placing the contents of the bag on it and studying them with narrowed eyes. “I’ve been in mood for rice too, you’re brilliant, H.”

“M’not brilliant, you just like food,” Harry says, smiling lazily, and Louis swats his knee -- but deliberately doesn't deny it, he notices -- before settling down onto the couch, crossing his knees. “Nice jumper, babe.”

“Thanks, it’s yours,” Louis says and tears a piece of naan bread apart before biting it. He looks at Harry over the rim of his glasses, looking quite thoughtful as he chews, swallowing and saying, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Harry shrugs, nabbing the extra piece of bread from Louis’ hand and watching his nose wrinkle up. “The usual, pretty much. I feel like everything was more heavy though, but it helped that it was cool out, so I didn't sweat too much.”

“That’s good,” Louis says, and drops his head so it’s resting on Harry’s shoulder. Flower, their cat, patters in a moment later, head tipped up like she could smell the food. Harry had brought her in from a thunder storm a couple of months back after finding out she hadn't had a collar, and he’d pouted for a good hour until Louis sighed and said they didn't have to take her to the shelter. He reaches out for her, smiling when she leaps up onto his lap elegantly, looking over at the coffee table.

“Her eyes are like yours,” Harry says, and Louis scoffs, fork pressed between his teeth. “All narrow and mischievous; can’t ever tell what the two of you are up to.”

“How sweet is it that I remind you of our cat,” Louis says, though he’s not really paying attention anymore, looking between the sheets on the side of the table and the telly, playing an action movie rerun. On screen, Matt Damon is being chased by international police.

It’s mostly quiet after that, rain hitting the windows, knees knocking together, Flower purring every once in a while. The film ends shortly before their supper does, and when Harry tries to get up and help clear the table, Louis glares at him over his shoulder. “Sit,” he demands, collecting the empty containers. “You’re tired.”

“You are too,” he protests, a little weakly, because he really is. He stretches again, yawning and watching Louis’ hips more than the telly as Flower hops onto the floor and curls into the corner of the room. Louis finishes up quickly anyway, though Harry reckons it’s because he tosses everything onto the counter by the sink instead of sorting it out in the rubbish bins. He doesn't mind -- he’s got a day off tomorrow, he’ll sort it himself.

Louis’ drying his hands off with a rag when he finally settles back down on the couch, and Harry raises an eyebrow, watching Louis straddle his hips and lean in. “I thought we were supposed to be tired,” he says slowly, even as he slides a hand down from Louis’ shoulder to his waist, cupping his bum. Louis grins, wiggling a little.

“Me and you are still too young to be tired for sex, that comes when we’ve got five children and a white picket fence,” he says, and Harry flinches a little as his cold hands brush his collarbones when he begins to unbutton his shirt. He hums a little, thoughtful, and squeezes Louis’ bum once, his fingers sinking in. It’s so round; he loves it.

“You make a good point there,” he says finally, and lets Louis slide their mouths together. The kiss is warm and sweet and tastes a little like diet coke. Louis’ hands come up to cup his jaw, thumbs rubbing gently over his skin, and Harry rubs slow circles into the small of Louis’ back until he pulls away, cheeks flushed and lips more red than before. “But what about the milk bars?”

“Food sex,” Louis tells him seriously, before leaning back and pulling the jumper over his head, tossing it behind himself. He rocks his hips back too, right over Harry’s groin, and Harry bites his bottom lip before reaching up to thumb over one of his small pink nipples. “Like, I dunno how that works, but we’ll make it happen.”

“I love you,” Harry says, “but sometimes your ideas are incredibly --”

“Brilliant, I know, Harold.” His hands come and rest underneath Harry’s pecs, and he chews on his bottom lip and rocks his hips again, tossing his hair to the side and smiling down at Harry. “But if I’ve got a milk bar in me mouth, how can I have your dick in there too?”

“God,” Harry groans, and pulls him down.

*

Louis’ alright after that.

In fact, he seems even better than he had been before that night -- there are always stretches of time where they can’t spend time together properly, too busy with work and all those other rubbish things that come with being adults, so it definitely did good for him.

And then one morning he’s off again.

“Hurry up,” he hisses, going up on his toes. They both moan as Harry’s cock slides inside him a little deeper in the new angle, and Harry presses himself against the slick curve of Louis’ back, pushing him flat against the shower wall. The water is steadily losing warmth -- Winter is such a boner killer. “I’m going to be late, and the students will know exactly -- oh, fuck.”

Harry sinks his teeth into the curve of Louis’ shoulder gently at the same time his fingertips press into Louis’ fleshy hips hard, thrusting shallowly and watching Louis’ fingers curl on the shiny shower wall. He’s probably doing it right now -- Louis doesn't have the breath to bicker, can just whimper and clench around Harry weakly.

Harry makes sure Louis comes a few minutes after that, and it’s the hardest thing to pull out before he himself comes over the swell of Louis’ arse. His cock jerks against the cold of the bathroom, the change from going to being inside Louis’ hot body too much, and a little rude. 

They snog a bit after that, Harry mostly keeping Louis up from slumping down and never picking his lazy self up again, and then actually shower as quick as humanly possible until the water goes ice-cold.

Harry’s toweling himself off when Louis steps out of the bathroom, brushing his teeth. “Hey,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste that dribbles down his chin, “did we eat anything strange recently?”

Harry averts his gaze from the flexing muscles of Louis’ bicep each time he moves the brush, glancing inside the dresser for a white t-shirt. “No, I don't think so? Unless you ate that pot pie I told you explicitly not to eat.”

“I actually didn't,” Louis hums thoughtfully,” But I don't think I tossed it out yet, so you should do that sometime.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him, and Louis smirks in response. The ensuing tickle fight has them both running to work so they won't be late.

*

Harry doesn't really think about the comment until a week or so later, when Louis’ staring at his plate of food like he’d rather it eat him than him eat it. “You alright?” he asks, setting his fork down; he’d made it quite quickly, so there’s a chance it doesn't taste quite right to him.

“Yeah, it’s good, but.” He makes a face, wrinkling his nose. “But my stomach feels strange. Like, I had some toast this morning, but I couldn't eat it all.” He pushes his chair back and shakes his head, giving Harry a little smile. “I think I’ll just shower and head to bed, sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Harry says, a furrow pulling at his eyebrows. “Are you sure it’s not that bad?”

Louis waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, it’ll be fine. I definitely ate something strange recently, I’ll take a few pills and have some water and be brilliant in the morning.”

Harry’s not sure what exactly Louis’ definition of ‘brilliant’ is, but the next morning he finds his boy bent over the toilet bowl and looking a little like a demon’s being exorcised from his body. Personally, to him, it doesn't seem all that brilliant but you never know with Louis, his definition of words are a bit different than everyone else’s. “Lou,” he says helplessly, kneeling beside him and rubbing his lower back. “Oh, God, we should go to the hospital --”

“You’re being silly, Harold,” Louis wheezes, pushing his fringe back. “After classes today, I’ll go to the after-hours clinic. The --” he pauses and coughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and blinking slowly “-- hospital is a bit too dramatic.”

As if dramatic isn't Louis’ middle name. Harry frowns a little but doesn't fight it,. because at least Louis’ going to see a doctor, and helps him up from the floor, leaning him against the sink and wiping the corner of his mouth with a damp napkin. “I don't think going to work is such a good idea,” he says slowly.

Louis’ fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping his ministrations. “Haz,” he says. “I think I’m…”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs* ...petplay.....???? i dont think im too into petplay anymore.

There’s nothing more distracting than sunlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains on an early morning, especially when it’s on a day off. Harry groans low in his throat as he wakes up involuntarily, rolls onto his left side and tries to go back to sleep.

It doesn't work, and he’s aware it won't; once he’s up, he’s up. He blinks a few times, willing the sleep away, and shifts onto his back, watching the ceiling as the room goes quiet and he can hear the smallest snuffles from the floor. He smiles to himself a little, and reaches under the soft comforter to scratch his hip, right above the waistband of his briefs, before he pushes himself up and to his feet.

He can see Louis’ hand, small and curled up in his sleep from where he stands, and he takes a few steps to see make sure he’s okay, sees him on the puppy napper by the foot of the bed, knees tucked to his chest, tail resting in the dip of his hip. He’s still deep in sleep, and Harry gives himself a moment to just look at him--he looks infinitely times younger when he’s asleep, the bruises under his eyes faint, skin soft looking, peaceful in a whole. He’s clean-shaven, how he prefers it in privacy.

Harry bites his lip and contemplates giving him a little rub between his ears, but Louis’ been tuckered out from the recent shows and Harry wants him to sleep for longer. He sighs to himself before he heads to the bathroom.

He leaves the door open and as he brushes his teeth, he can see Louis stirring on the floor in the reflection. He pauses, and glances over his shoulders, watching him stretch out against the floor akin to an animal rising from sleep, before he yawns and opens his eyes, blinking sleepily.

Harry finishes up before he heads back into the room, pulling on a pair of trackies. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him but he doesn't acknowledge it, only giving a nod to the door as he leaves the room.

He heads to the kitchen, knowing Louis’ slowly going to collect himself and make his way to the lounge after a moment, and he smiles and inhales the coffee scent when he’s in the dining room. The coffee machine is automated and it’s already slowly trickling the black liquid into a white mug. He opens the icebox and takes out the carton of milk on the first shelf, twisting it open before he grabs a bowl from the cupboard.

He fills the bowl halfway before splashing a few drops of milk into his coffee and placing it back. He pops two slices of bread into the toaster before he takes the mug and bowl to the living room, setting the bowl in front of Louis, who’s already kneeling by the side of the sofa, where all the playtoys are piled up. He paws at Harry before he can go and sit on the sofa, his other hand clawing at the collar around his neck.

“Is it too tight?” he asks, and Louis nods, tipping his head to bare his neck. Harry places the mug on the coffee table and reaches around Louis to unfasten it, clasping it back one holt looser, before leaning back to gauge Louis’ reaction, pleased to see he’s content.

He unclips both of Louis’ ears too, sliding them back in his hair more tightly from how they’d loosened throughout the night, and leans down to give him a quick kiss on the forehead before he sinks into the sofa with his coffee, turning on the telly in time for the morning news.

He’s halfway finished his coffee when Louis finally picks up the bowl of milk, tipping it back to take a tentative sip. Harry watches the way his throat moves under the dark collar as he swallows it down, watches a few tiny droplets trickle down his chin, and reaches out to thumb it away. Louis startles, nearly dropping the bowl as he stares up at Harry.

“Made a mess, pup,” Harry murmurs, something hot pooling in his lower abdomen when Louis shivers at the pet name. He presses his thumb to Louis’ bottom lip, keeps his eyes on Louis’ as Louis slowly sucks it into his mouth, running his soft, wet tongue along the pad, collecting the drops of milk. “Good boy.”

If Louis’ tail were real, it would probably be wagging full force right now, his cheeks flushing and his eyes dropping to the floor. He takes another sip from the bowl, this time slower and more carefully, and nothing dribbles down his skin this time round.

Harry finishes his coffee and changes the channel, the news disrupting his peaceful mind so early in the morning. Louis looks up at him when he pauses on a children’s channel, colourful characters singing and dancing across the screen, so Harry leaves it there, dropping the clicker onto the coffee table before going to the kitchen for another cup.

When he returns, Louis’ sat closer to the telly, on his knees, hands pressed to the floor between his thighs. His eyes are following the people on screen but he doesn't look very connected, and that’s always something that’s frustrated Harry, how he can never find something that grabs Louis’ attention for more than a few minutes.

He sits down on the couch again and lets his eyes flicker over the wingbones of Louis’ back, how it dips before curving to his full arse, and sets the mug on the table after a moment’s consideration. “Pup.”

Louis glances over his shoulder at him, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and he lights up when Harry pats his lap, crawling over to him quickly. Harry’s eyes follow the gentle swish of his tail before he reaches down to haul him up, giving him a cheeky pat on the bum as he slides his soft thighs around Harry’s hips, clasping his hands behind Harry’s neck.

“Do you want to do something before I go, baby?” Harry asks him lowly, sliding his hand from his bum to give him a soft rub on the belly with his fingertips, feeling it contract under his fingers. Louis gasps softly and pushes into the touch, rolling his bum down to sit directly over Harry’s crotch. “We could play some games, if you’d like it.” Louis shakes his head and looks down at Harry’s hand, resting on the smooth pudge of his tummy.

“Do you want a proper belly rub?” Harry asks, and Louis nods quickly, eagerly, his pink lips quirking into a little smile. Harry complies, smoothing his palm over Louis’ skin, and while it’s harder this way, he likes it when Louis sits in his lap instead of just laying beside him. He’s sure Louis likes it this way too, with the way his skin flushes prettily and his thighs start to tremble the slightest bit. He mewls when Harry moves his hand back to cop a squeeze from his arse, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Shh,” Harry murmurs, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh of Louis’ bum and massaging it slowly, watching Louis’ eyelids droop, his tense shoulders go slack. He nudges Louis’ chin with his nose and frowns when he feels the beginnings of Louis’ growing stubble correlate with his otherwise soft skin. Louis’ eyes widen at his frown, his lips parting, and Harry shakes his head, patting his bum one last time for good measure before pressing his hand to his waist. “I’m not angry with you, pup.”

Louis nuzzles his face into the crook of Harry’s neck at that, and Harry lets him lick the curve of shoulder to neck for a while before he pinches his side. “That’s enough.”

He can feel the pout pressed into his shoulder but he draws back obediently, sliding off Harry’s lap with a pitiful little look as Harry stands up. “Stay here, baby.”

He heads back to the bedroom and, with a heavy sigh, starts changing into his jeans and a tshirt. Once he’s finished, he folds Louis’ skinnies and band shirt, the ones that Louis had shucked off of himself as soon as they got home yesterday and tossed to the floor before snooping around in the nightstand for his collar. It’s been bothering Harry, and he tucks them away into the closet quickly before shutting it.

He grabs his wallet, phones and sunglasses before he heads back to the lounge, where Louis’ still perched on the couch, fiddling with his hands and watching Harry walk over to him. He smooths Louis’ fringe from his eyes, drops a kiss to his forehead before leaning back up, noticing Louis’ half-hard cock. “I have to go now, but I want you to be good, alright?”

Louis nods, and Harry ruffles his hair. “Play with your toys, okay baby? Don't eat anything, I’m making supper when I get back.”

Louis nods again, and Harry pulls his hand back before heading to the foyer. He’s sure Louis understood that he’s not allowed to touch himself, not allowed to come until Harry’s back, and while Harry refuses to do anything that passes the line of “too far” he’s not going to be gone for long; he’s sure Louis can handle it.

-

He hasn't got anything much too important to do anyway, other than a few errands and letting himself be seen in public, because people tend to get suspicious when he’s MIA during a break, and while he was never bothered with that, let them think whatever it was they wanted to think, now that it’s him and Louis hiding together he’d rather people not think what they want to think.

His last stop is at an upscale pet shop downtown, and the worker at the front is thankfully helpful when he asks if the shop’s got any comfortable collars for puppys, showing him a whole array of thick, thin, colourful, looser leather ones. He ends up choosing a medium-width baby blue one because Louis’ skin always looks good against that colour, and it’s got tiny brown polka-dots all over it that’d match his ears and tail.

“I hope you don't mind me saying,” she says when she’s checking him out, “But I never knew Harry Styles had a puppy!”

“Ah,” he says, smiling as he hands over a few bills, “I just got him about a month ago, really. Still adjusting to what he likes and doesn't, learning how to take care of him.”

“I hear you,” she says, and wraps the collar up in beige tissue paper before slipping it into the bag. “Puppies can be a handful.” She hands the bag over to him and smiles. “Good luck with the little guy.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling back before he leaves.

He gets back home at evening, mulling over what to make for supper as he heads to the lounge. Louis’ in his corner, arms folded under his head, tail tucked between his thighs, and he looks up quickly, getting to his hands and knees when Harry turns the lights on and steps inside.

“Hey, baby,” he greets, letting Louis crawl forward and nudge his cheek against his knee, mewling when Harry scratches between his ears. One of them is close to slipping from Louis’ hair again, and he reaches down to fasten it back in carefully. “Are you hungry?”

Louis nods, before pressing his palm to his mouth and yawning. Harry smiles at him. “I’m going to start supper now, you can nap if you’d like.”

For someone who was used to how Louis acts in public, it was a little surprising for Harry when they got into this routine and Louis had a nap before dinner the first time. It’s more sweet now, watching him crawl to the couch and look at Harry with sleepy eyes, asking for permission to get up on it for his nap. Harry nods, watching him push himself up onto it and curl up in the corner on his belly, eyes drooping shut after only a moment. 

Harry watches him for a moment, how his back rises and falls with each breath he takes, looking more peaceful than Harry’s ever seen him before they ever did this. It sort of makes him sad when he thinks about how long Louis’ went along with being the leader while secretly dying for this, but it also makes him feel cruel because he’s secretly thrilled by how Louis only wanted this with him and waited for it.

He tucks Louis’ new gift into the drawer tucked into the corner of the foyer before he heads to the kitchen, thumbing at the corner of his mouth as he opens up the icebox and observes the contents. It’s not lacking, naturally, because he’s the one who does the groceries since Louis had scoffed at the idea of doing them himself a year ago.

He settles on making cheese and turkey paninis with tomato soup, something quick but filling and easy to eat with your hands. He gets a bit lost in it once he starts, the whirring of the fan above the stove filling his ears with white noise as he cuts the flat bread and then the basil for the soup.

Once the sandwiches are done and the soup’s simmering, he heads back to the lounge to check on Louis. He’s still asleep, fingers twitching each time he snores, itching his button nose unconsciously. 

Harry walks over to him slowly, rubbing the curve of Louis’ shoulder slowly until he wakes up. He leans down and collects him in his arms, carrying him easily to him to the dining room. Louis yawns, his fingers digging into Harry’s shoulder as he clings to him, hands fisting in the hem of Harry’s flannel when Harry sets him down on the floor.

“Don't be a bad boy, behave,” Harry scolds, swatting his hands away, and Louis mews, a pull forming in between his eyebrows as he frowns and swipes at Harry’s shirt. Harry’s eyebrows raise, and he catches Louis’ wrist in his hand before he can pull back. “Bad pup.”

Louis whines and rocks forward, his free hand patting Harry’s shirt, and it dawns on him. “Do you want to wear it…?” Louis shakes his head and folds his arms over his chest. “Hold it?”

Louis nods and smiles, leaning back and looking up at Harry expectantly. Harry’s wearing a shirt underneath it and even if he weren't he doesn't mind walking around without a shirt, but Louis hadn't asked for it properly--but he’s so cute, and if Harry thinks rationally, he probably didn't know that wasn't right. He drums his fingers against the table for a moment, until Louis’ wide eyes get to him and he sighs, unbuttoning it. 

“Ask for it properly next time,” he warns before handing it down to Louis. It was a good idea, he finds out a second later--Louis tightens it to his chest and rubs his cheek into it, eyes drooping again.

It’s then that Harry remembers about supper and he hastily returns to the kitchen, collecting first the plate he’d put Louis’ sandwich and bowl of soup on, along with another bowl of water and returns to place them down in front of him. 

He collects his own plates and turns the lights off in the kitchen, sitting down at the dining table in a place where he can see Louis eat, head hunched down as he finishes the sandwich before he sips the soup. It’s a relief because he’d been worried that Louis wouldn't like it, because even though when he’s not in this state of mind he scarfs down most everything without a second thought, he’s strangely picky like this.

He fiddles around with his phone as he eats, scrolling through his feed and tweeting something that’ll make no sense to anyone other than the Louis who’ll come back to him after tomorrow, checking what he’s missed on the internet and then staring at Harry in exasperation and fondness. The thought makes him smile, and he reaches down to rub Louis between the ears as he sips his water, watching his back straighten up as soon as he touches him.

Louis doesn't eat all of it, pushing the plates away from himself once he’s done and placing one hand flat on his tummy, staring up at Harry, who finishes quickly before clearing their plates. He wants to give Louis his new collar tonight, and the evening is slowly delving into darkness outside.

Once he’s finished, he closes the lights of the dining room and heads to the lounge, glancing over his shoulder to see Louis crawling behind him. “Want to take a bath, baby?”

Louis nose wrinkles, more at the prospect of taking his ears off and his tail out, but Harry leans down to give him another head rub, smiling softly as he mews quietly and leans into the touch. “Be good, because I’ve got a present for you.”

Louis’ eyes widen and his lips part, and he leans forward, as if to ask what it is. Harry chuckles before continuing to their bedroom, knowing Louis’ scrambling to catch up behind him. “I can’t very well tell you what is, pup, it’d spoil the present aspect.”

Louis makes a sad little noise, and Harry notices he hasn't been on his best behaviour today. Normally, he’d lock Louis out of their bedroom when he acts up, make him sleep on the floor in the living room like the bad puppy he is, but he’s in a forgiving mood today, and he knows Louis was so wound up from a month straight of touring and absolutely no time to unwind.

He unclips Louis’ ears when Louis crawls onto Harry’s bed, pouting a bit when Harry places them carefully onto the nightstand. He rolls over onto his belly obediently as soon as Harry nudges his side nonetheless, whimpering as Harry gently pulls the plug from his arse, hand wrapped tight around the edge of the tail. His hole clenches down around nothing as soon as it’s gone, and Harry makes a sympathetic noise, smoothing his hands up and down Louis’ trembling sides until he calms down.

He carries Louis to the bathroom to make up for it, Louis clinging to him tightly. He perches him on the edge of the sink and Louis tuck his knees up to his chest as he watches, making himself small, fitting on even such a small space as the sink’s counter.

Once the tub’s full, Harry slowly helps Louis in, before stripping his own clothes off and climbing in behind him. Louis leans back against his chest, tucking right into the space and humming in content as Harry washes his hair with his favourite vanilla and coconut scented shampoo.

He washes Louis’ back after that with his loofa, hands it over to Louis to wash the rest of himself up before he washes his own hair and his own body. Louis starts wiggling back against him at some point, when Harry’s using the hose to wash the soap from their bodies, and Harry feels like he’s been half-hard since early morning, so it makes it worse. Louis giggles when he feels Harry’s cock rub against the crevice of his bum, curling his hands around the lip of the tub and pressing back again.

“ _ Behave _ ,” Harry hisses, sliding an arm around Louis’ waist to still him. Louis goes lax at that, mouth moving over unspoken words, shuddering when Harry’s knuckles run over his cock. 

Even as Harry pulls Louis from the lukewarm water to wrap him up in a towel, Louis’ cock hasn't flagged, is half-hard where it rests against his hip. He pulls the towel down tighter over his shoulders, his eyes dropping to the floor as he follows Harry to the bedroom.

He sits on the end of the bed, thighs pressed together and hair hiding his face as Harry dries himself and changes into a pair of pyjama pants before he kneels in front of Louis and runs the towel over his hair.

Louis complies easily whenever Harry murmurs for him to lift an arm or spread his legs, running the towel over his damp skin until it’s dry. When Harry comes back from hanging the towel on a hook in the bathroom, Louis’ kneeling at the bed and pawing at the nightstand, bottom lip wobbling.

Harry collects his ears and his tail, leaving the old black collar inside the drawer, pulling the bag from the pet shop out before he sits back against the pillows, Louis clumsily crawling into his lap and clutching his shoulders. He arches his neck so Harry can clip his ears back in his hair, and furrows his brows when he realizes Harry hasn't gotten his collar out.

“S’alright,” Harry murmurs, placing the bag in Louis’ lap. Louis barely hesitates before he’s opening it and reaching inside, eyes brightening when he pulls the new collar out. “Good, pup?”

Louis nods and hands it over to Harry, who reaches behind him to clasp it on. It’s just perfect; doesn't tug at his skin, has enough space for Harry to slide two fingers in, and it looks just as good on Louis as he thought it would. 

“There we go,” he says, smiling when Louis paws at his neck, trying to look down at it. “You can look in the mirror tomorrow morning, if you’d like.”

Louis nods again before stretching himself to swipe the lube from the nightstand, pressing it into Harry’s hands and rocking his hips back. He bites his lip and looks down at Harry, and Harry kisses his chin as he slicks his fingers up and reaches around to press them to Louis’ rim.

They don't have sex--when Louis’ like  _ this _ , because otherwise they really do fuck a whole lot--because Louis likes wearing his tail and he can’t do that when Harry’s cock is in its place. But he’s whining even as Harry pushes his fingers into him, tightening around them greedily, and Harry smooths his free hand over Louis’ thigh to calm him down.

He has Louis roll onto his belly on the bed, hitching his arse up as Harry nudges the plug back inside him, kissing the curve of his shoulder as it sinks inside of Louis and he mewls happily. He reaches back down to pinch Louis’ thigh, and then slides his lube-slick fingers in between them.

Louis looks back over his shoulder when he realizes what’s happening, spreading his thighs so Harry can get them properly slick, pressing his tongue against the prominent dimples at the bottom of Louis’ spine, just above the curve of his arse as he reaches down his pyjamas to stroke his cock.

He covers Louis’ body with his as he presses his cock between Louis’ thighs, waiting for Louis to tighten them, panting and shivering underneath him as he strokes out and back between them, as if he were actually fucking him right now. Louis’ thighs are full and soft and warm, just enough friction from how they tremble, and he sucks a bruise into the skin right above Louis’ collar, distracting himself from his impending orgasm so Louis can come first.

He does, finally, gasping and shaking apart underneath Harry. His thighs tighten and Harry can feel the warmth of it dribble down the head of his cock, and he presses him down into the bed and pulls out, stroking himself quickly and watching himself come all over Louis’ lower back, careful to avoid the fur of his tail. Louis whimpers as he slides his fingers through it, dragging it across sunny skin and making him even more a mess, because it makes something hot burn inside of him even though he’s just come.

He gives himself a moment before he tucks himself back in and grabs a damp cloth from the bathroom, rolling Louis onto his back and cleaning him up. Louis’ eyes are half-lidded, his body lax under Harry’s hand, and he hums when Harry presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Bedtime, baby,” Harry murmurs, and Louis nods, yawning before he slides off the bed, giggling when Harry pats his bum as he crawls to the puppy napper. He waits until Louis’ all curled up in it, eyes falling shut on an exhale before he climbs into bed.

-

He wakes up to an armful of clothed, snoring Louis, free of the ears, tail, and collar.

“Lou,” he rumbles, not all that surprised at how shot his morning voice gets anymore. Louis doesn't answer, just presses back into his arms and pulls the comforter up onto them even more. “Lou.”

“Shut up, Harry,” he rasps, and Harry hides a smile into his shoulder before lightly sinking his teeth into it, through the shirt Louis’ wearing--he’s pretty sure it’s his shirt, anyway. Louis gasps and he can see Louis’ lashes flutter as he opens his eyes. “ _ Jesus _ .”

“Morning,” he whispers as Louis rolls onto his side, already looking pissed off. He smooths his thumb over the furrow between Louis’ eyebrows and leans in to peck his lips, and when he sees the clock on the nightstand say it’s only seven in the morning, he lets Louis pull him in for another kiss, heavier and wetter, and, after a moment, with tongue, too.

“Naughty boy,” he breathes when they pull apart, and Louis smirks at him before he’s crawling under the sheets and hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Harry’s pyjama pants.

“I’ll show you naughty,” he says, and pauses. “When did you start wearing clothes to bed, anyway?”

He cranes his neck down, looking at where the waistband rests on his hips, before shrugging. “Haven't a clue. It just kinda happened.”

Louis pinches his hip in retaliation for that and sticks his tongue out, and Harry waggles an eyebrow to remind him to get on with it, and Louis pulls Harry’s pyjamas down around his knees as he warns him to not go too rough because they have a show tonight, and that’s that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CHOOOOOOOOKING.

Louis is exactly what Nick had called him that one time, drunk and sliding into the back of a fancy town car after a fun little night at one of their favourite London clubs. “Is that Lewis?” he’d asked, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder as Harry fished his mobile from his pocket after it’s rung. It’s a text, reading  _ dskdfhgfjksdjksdfdnfbhbhdvg _ .

“Yes,” Harry had replied, “yes, it’s Louis.”

They’d both stared at the message for a while, until the driver had slammed their door shut and settled into the front, turning the car on. “Strange little thing,” Nick commented, before leaning back and rubbing his temple, groaning about how he had to wake up early tomorrow, breakfast show and all. Harry used his free hand to give him what was hopefully a comforting rub on the knee before he’d looked back down at the message for another minute, before sighing and closing the screen.

So. Yes. Odd little thing. There are about a bajillion things Louis has said and/or done that could back that theory up.

But, y’know. Harry used to think there were boundaries to how far that oddness stretched.

“I want you to choke me,” Louis says. His lips are shiny with precome from mouthing at the head of Harry’s cock. His face is blank. Harry blinks down at him, and the urge to shove his prick in his hot wet mouth lessens a little bit then.

“What?” Harry asks.

“I want you to choke me,” Louis repeats. 

Harry blinks again. Apparently Louis takes that as some strange sort of confirmation, because he grins like a - like an evil thing, and then ducks down, finally taking Harry into his mouth. The head of Harry’s cock bumps against the inside of his cheek, puffing his softly stubbled skin. Harry groans, reaches down, tangles a hand through the soft thin hairs on the top of Louis’ head, and pulls him off.

Louis looks confused and a little irritated, trying to duck back down, lips trembling a little as they nudge against the swollen head. Harry wants to make a joke,  _ hungry for it, Lou _ , and then wants to fuck his throat enough he won't be able to talk like a fucking brat for a couple days, and then make him some tea.

But. Priorities.

“Choke you?” he asks, and has to repeat it when his voice comes out too rough. “I, um. I don't get it.”

For a moment Louis looks like he doesn't believe him, but Harry just furrows his brows and mouths _ honestly _ . Louis just looks gleeful then. “Oh, sex God Harry Styles doesn't know what choking someone means?” he crows. Jesus. Harry thinks about stuffing his mouth full again.

_ Priorities!!!!! _ , the smarter side of his brain screams. He sighs. “I know what it means, but, like. I dunno how.”

“It’s simple,” Louis tells him, and then wraps his own hands around his throat, tipping his head back. It looks a little gory, honestly. “Do this while you shag me, mate, s’not rocket science.”

God. It could be. How do you choke someone without murdering them? “When did you,” he starts, and uses his free hand to scratch the corner of his mouth. He’s suddenly not very enthusiastic to hear the inevitable answer. “When did you even realize you wanted someone to choke you while they shagged you?”

“Couple nights ago, some bloke, like, accidentally did it while we, y’know, shagged,” Louis shrugs. His cock is fat, tenting his soft and worn trackies. Harry’s hand tightens in his hair. “And I just came so bloody fast, dude, but I didn't really get to, like, feel it all. It was so sudden. So.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He’s not sure how he’s simultaneously jealous and turned-on from hearing about this. “Didn't he hurt you?”

“Kind of,” Louis admits, scratching the back of his neck. “But it was the good pain.”

The good pain. Like when Louis ties Harry up and doesn't touch his prick until he’s nearly crying, or when Harry bends Louis over and spanks him until Louis actually is proper crying. Good pain. He thought only they knew the good pain. None of the birds or blokes Harry’s fucked himself has he shared the pleasure of the good pain with. He lets go of Louis’ hair before he accidentally ends up ripping it all out.

“And you’ve got really, um,” Louis says, jutting his chin out. Harry glances down to - oh. His hands. “They’re, y’know.”

Harry curls his fingers inwards to his palm. They still look big. Good God, he could kill Louis. He doesn't know why this turns Louis on. He doesn't know why his cock is painfully hard.

“This is dangerous, innit,” he says after a moment, the room quiet, save for Louis’ mellowing breathing.

“I like taking chances,” Louis says. “You know that. Safe living is for the weak.”

“I don't want to go to prison,” Harry says.

“You won't - listen, we could, like, use a word!” He rocks back on the balls of his feet, curling a finger under his mouth and squinting. “If it gets bad, where you’re starting to choke me to death, I’ll say rovers?”

Harry chews on his bottom lip. On one hand, this could go very very wrong. The smart side of his brain isn’t fully on board with this all yet, it seems. But then on the other hand - he, suddenly, has an overpowering want to do it. His cock twitches and Louis’ eyes drop back down to it, crawling forward and suckling at the tip.

Harry rests his hand back on the crown of his head again, but doesn't tug his hair, just - strokes it, sweetly, thumbing Louis’ fringe back from tangling in his long lashes as he sucks more cock in. He’s seemingly quite horny today, and it’s like he’s been thinking about this ever since that first bloke. Harry nudges his hips up gently, tilts Louis’ head up a little with one hand, uses the other to feed him more, until his eyes are a little wet and saliva’s trickling down his chin.

“Gonna, soon,” Harry murmurs after a moment, eyes trained on Louis’ mouth, tight and berry-red around him. He makes a small noise in the back of his throat, pulls back and sucks tight around the head again, and Harry comes like that, in his mouth, over his lips, down his neck. He’s winded but he can’t resist reaching a hand out, thumbing at the come that’s slipped out of Louis’ mouth and feeding it back to him. Louis takes it graciously as ever.

“So,” Harry says after another pause, Louis’ cheek resting on his knee, chest heaving. “Bed?”

“You gonna choke me?” Louis rasps. His voice always sounds so nice after he’s sucked someone off; it sends a shiver down Harry’s spine, now, makes his soft cock start to realize this isn’t all over yet.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, I’ll choke you.”

Louis’ lips turn up a little in the corners. His stubble is dark, and even though it’s not all that much quite yet, it still draws attention to his mouth. Harry wants to kiss it. So when Louis stands up, stretching his arms over his head and rolling his neck, Harry pulls him in and does just that.

Louis sighs against him before pushing his clever tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry lets him do it easily, closing his eyes and running his hands down his sides, over his arse, taking two handfuls and kneading them, knowing exactly when Louis’ hand will fly out and smack him on the back of the head.

“Hey,” he sighs, pulling back a little. He winds his arms around Louis’ waist, stepping them backwards to the bed, and Louis wraps his arms around his neck and hums contently until he falls back onto it with a grunt. It’s only quick-thinking on Harry’s part that he doesn't smush him, instead clambering up on his elbows just so their noses touch. 

Romantic.

“You should probably fuck me now,” Louis says sweetly, glancing in between their bodies and grabbing his own cock. Harry bats his hand away and then stands back up, tugging his shirt over his head as Louis shuffles back up to the pillows.

He pushes his jeans off the rest of the way and then heads back to his suitcase, zipped shut and stood immaculately in the corner of the room, by the dresser. He sorts through it for the lube and thinks about how Louis’ own suitcase is probably haphazardously laying upside down, contents strewn everywhere.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Louis calls from behind him. He rolls his eyes and plucks a packet from some little pocket sewn inside the material and stands back up, heading back to the bed. He rolls his eyes again.

“You have zero patience,” he says and almost immediately feels kind of stupid for it, because - that’s a known fact world-wide. Everyone knows this. Like, literally everyone. Louis just grins wide enough that his sharp piranha teeth show and tugs his cock again.

“Really?” he asks, and Harry braces himself for the saccharine-soaked answer he’s about to receive. “I hadn't know that! I wish I were as smart as you, maybe then I could know meself better and all.”

“Shut up,” Harry says, and tugs the packet of lube open with his thumb, his forefinger, and his teeth. Louis opens his mouth again, eyes bright, and Harry ducks down and kisses him quiet as he slicks his fingers up. Louis doesn't try to speak again, just curls his hands against the swallows on Harry’s chest, spreads his thighs eagerly.

His hips twitch when Harry slides a hand down, between his cheeks, pressing light fingertips over his hole. He doesn't press them in, though, just - fingers over it for a moment, feeling it tighten underneath and smile against Louis’ mouth, his pants harsher and harsher.

“I’ll hurt you,” he warns the second before Harry pushes one inside him, barely and resistance until it’s at the third knuckle. It sounds threatening at first but then just wans off into an embarrassingly high breath, nails digging into Harry’s skin. His thighs fall further apart, all slag-like and he keens as Harry searches out his prostate, thumb rubbing over his rim almost too roughly.

He doesn't even feel all that tight like he usually does, and Harry stills his wrist for a moment, lips pressed against the corner of Louis’ mouth. “You did it already,” he mutters there, accusing, and pushes another fingertip against Louis’ rim until it slides inside the clutch of his arsehole. It’s not wet or loose enough that he’s done it recently - recently, in the past couple hours, but. Definitely while he showered this afternoon. Harry’s breath catches a little as he thinks about how Louis had went on stage after that, loose and satisfied.

“Fuck yeah I did,” Louis huffs, rolling hips hips and bearing down against Harry’s thick fingers, hissing delightedly when they rub up inside him in the best way, make the muscles of his thighs clench. Harry glances down, at Louis’ shiny red hole, stretched around him, and thinks about how hot it’d look stretched on three.

On his cock.

“You can touch your prick,” he says suddenly, hooking his fingers, rubbing over his prostate. Louis makes another satisfied noise, rocking down, doesn't even look like he thought twice before reaching down between his legs and stroking himself. Harry’s used too much lube, caught up in kissing and it’s globbed all over, cool all over Louis’ fist as he tugs, thumbs over the slit the same time Harry fucks three fingers deep in him, stretching them out right after.

Louis gasps like he’s surprised when he comes, cock spurting over his knuckles. Harry doesn't pause; keeps fingerfucking him through it, kissing his temple and pulling his fingers back when Louis starts to whimper, hips twitching. 

He leans back on his haunches, grabbing the packet of lube and and slicking his cock up as Louis settles down. His thighs are still spread, even more loose-looking now that he’s come, and Harry leans over him, the head of his cock bumping against his raw hole, catching. “So,” he says, watching Louis twitch and squirm against his prick, “I’m going to do it now.”

“Fucking finally,” Louis retorts, and cuts off when Harry nudges inside.

It’s easy; Harry’s big, he knows, but everything is so bloody wet and Louis’ already been fingered open twice today, smoothly sliding in all the way. Louis’ hands are fisting the sheets, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and Harry pauses for a moment, just settling down and taking in the sight of Louis on his cock.

It’s nice.

He slowly rolls his hips once, thrusts a couple times, gets into a steady pace. Usually at this point Louis would already be antsy, tugging at his hair, thumbing over his nipples, pulling himself off. But he doesn't do anything now, just lets Harry fuck him for a while before he opens his eyes and stares at him a little unnvervingly. 

“Alright,” he huffs, and steadies himself on one arm, biceps rippling. He trails his hand up Louis’ chest, and his belly caves in when he palms over his neck, hips keeping up their steady pace, slightly slower now. “You remember, yeah? Rovers.”

“Rovers.” Louis nods stiffly, not pushing Harry’s palm from his neck, and Harry swallows and pressed his hand down

It’s only then that he realizes he doesn't quite know how to do it. He presses his thumb in against the left side of Louis’ neck, soft skin giving, and actually feels his pulse right against the pad of his fingertip. Louis’ gone completely still under him, mouth in an o, eyes wide and excited, and then Harry sinks his four fingers in on the right side, and squeezes a little. Louis’ eyelashes flutter and his tongue swipes over his teeth.

It’s not all that tight yet. He feels Louis clench around him and groans, head hanging down, squeezing his fingers a little more. Louis’ hands come round and wrap around his wrist, and for a second he thinks he’s going to pull Harry’s hand off but instead he presses him down, tipping his head back and giving him the whole column of his smooth throat.

His balls are tight and full and heavy and drawn-up and he’s already so close to coming, Louis’ tight perfect arse hot and wet and clinging to his cock like it never wants to be empty again. He bites his bottom lip and rocks forward again, slides his hand higher up around Louis’ neck and squeezes again, tighter than before.

Louis’ eyes close, mouth dropping open. He looks helpless, and it turns Harry on in a way that makes him feel animalistic, almost  _ growling  _ low in his throat. His cock twitches hard inside of Louis, and he wants to lean back and hook his hands under the backs of Louis’ knees and use the leverage to fuck the come out of both of them, but he wants to choke Louis more than that.

His fingers go slack for one quiet moment and Louis’ eyebrows furrow, eyes squeezing as he sucks in a breath of air. His little nipples are pink and tight now, and they look almost indecent. Harry averts his eyes and reaches back up, counting to three in his head before wrapping his hand around Louis’ neck again, thrusting in time.

Louis’ hands go loose around his wrist, and after a moment they flop onto his pillow, each side of his head. His back arches and his face goes blissfully slack when he comes, completely untouched, cock jerking roughly against his belly and striping over his quaking abs. 

Harry immediately lets go and Louis’ head lolls to the side a little, sucking in air not nearly as frenzied as he should be. He looks peaceful. Harry gently pets over his throat, thinks about how much he’s done to it today. It makes another shameful wave of arousal wash over him and he starts fucking Louis faster, barely sliding out on each stroke before he’s pushing back in and filling him up again. Louis’ arse is still tight and welcoming even as his body has gone loose, fingers twitching every once in a while, mouth moving or silent words, eyes closed.

Harry feels a little like he’s burning, set on fire at some part of his body, when he starts to come, grinding right against the swell of Louis’ arse, hot thick long pulses inside of Louis. He fucks him through it mostly because he can’t seem to will his body to come to a still, fucks his come back into him until he can’t stop shaking and Louis’ mewling almost painfully.

“Fuck,” he croaks, slowing down until he’s just stopped, looming over Louis and panting harshly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think this was supposed to be a "The Virgin Suicides" au which is funny bc 1) i never even watched that movie and 2) it ended up just being the longest pre-fuck EVER.

_ In the end, I had the pieces to the puzzle that was Louis Tomlinson, but no matter how I put them together, gaps remained-- oddly-shaped emptiness mapped by what surrounded them, like countries I couldn't quite name. _

*

“You boned Louis Tomlinson, didn’t you?”

Harry’s eyes drift from where they were trained on the darkness outside of the living room window, down to the floor, where his friends are sat, playing a tame game of Scrabble and probably-- most likely-- silently inspecting him. Karmin is leaning against the side of the sofa, peering at Harry over the rim of his glasses, arm hitched up on one knee as Victor shakes the dice.

Harry doesn't say much for a moment, just looks back out the window. He can faintly make out the silhouette of Louis and a faceless man on the roof directly above his bedroom. If he remembers correctly, this is his fourth this week. His thoughts begin to wander yet again, remembering how soft yet delicate Louis was underneath his hands, large and calloused from wood tech class at school, roughing Louis’ skin up.

“No,” he replies a moment later, pressing his forehead back to the cool glass, looking up towards Louis’ roof again. He thinks the man is fucking Louis now; their barely-visible shadows are moving in jerky increments at the moment. He thinks maybe his blood runs hot at the thought. “I didn't bone him. I had sex with him.”

Karmin snorts, and Harry flushes, realizing how horrid that had sounded. He adds, after a moment of hesitation, “we had sex in his bedroom.”

Arthur drops the dice with a funny noise from the back of his throat. Victor makes a noise around his current sip of root beer. Karmin’s mouth parts, slick and red.

“You’re a liar, mate,” Karmin tells him. Harry grins, tearing his eyes away from Louis’ roof so he won’t feel like he’s going to combust, instead staring at the bright fluorescent light streaming out of the Tomlinson’s living room. He can see Louis’ parents moving around slowly, picking intangible things up and glancing back at the other, probably making idle chat.

It’s later on, when the boys are leaving Harry’s place with a clap on his back and a  _ see you at school tomorrow _ , Harry heads back to the living room, collecting the cans of beer when he glances up and sees the light from the Tomlinson’s living room shut, their old Mercury backing out of the driveway. He feels his breath catch in his throat and goes still, like the curtains to his living room aren't pulled wide open and the new lights his father installed a week ago doesn't spill onto the dark street quite noticeably.

After five minutes he tracks on the Grandfather clock placed ajar by the fireplace, one of the lights to the Tomlinson’s living room flickers on. When he looks up, Louis is walking into the room, but it’s too far away to tell what he’s doing, other than just slowly sitting down onto the sofa. He must still be sore. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to fight off the new gross feeling seeping through him-- jealousy, he thinks. Gross but all-encompassing.

He places the cans of beer on the table in the foyer, tugging on his sneakers and pulling his jacket over his shoulders. It’s new enough for him to still smell the leather, and he feels a bit more grown-up with it on. He leaves his house after locking it, tossing the cans in one of the recycling bins outside before he slowly makes his way down the driveway, hands shoved deep into his pockets, looking both ways before crossing the street.

He’s on Louis’ patio far too soon, hasn't even collected most his scrambled thoughts by then. He still knocks on the glass of the door, though, and Louis still beckons him in with a two-finger wave, not even sparing him a glance. When you’re Louis Tomlinson, though, you’re probably allowed to not give anyone a second look. Or a first look, even.

He jiggles the handles of the patio door, finding it slide open easily. He slips into the living room easily, quickly closing the door behind himself before any pesky mosquitos or moths can make their way in.

Louis’ watching him as he steps over to the sofa, a cigarette held in between perfect fingers. Harry pauses right before him, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over his slim shoulders before he eases in the spot beside him.

Louis presses the cigarette in between his lips, reaching his free hands over his chest and pulling the jacket down low, sinking back into its warmth, giving Harry a lazy smile. “Such a gentleman, Harry Styles”

“My mum would have burnt the town down before raising a son anything but,” Harry grins back. He can’t help the way he’s so obviously checking Louis out-- his hair is down today, for the first time in a while, and even though Harry loves any hairstyle ever on Louis, the loose, undone, tired fringe will always have a special place in his heart.

Along with that, he looks like he hasn't shaved his face in a while, but he looks soft, begging to be cuddled. His hands are shaking when he removes the cig from between his lips, and he’s wearing a plain white tshirt so loose it hangs down one shoulder and displays one of the rosy buds of his nipples. He’s only got on a pair of boxers other than that, and Harry’s mighty positive it’s the pair he accidentally left behind the first time he and Louis copulated.

His eyes linger on the thickness of Louis’ bare thigh, pressing against his own clothed one for a moment longer than they should, and when he remembers to look back up, Louis’ watching him with that seemingly-permanent look he has; lazy smirk, tired, half-lidded eyes, a million secrets buried into each of his many hollows. Harry wants to touch him so, so badly.

So he does. He reaches out and drop his fingertips to Louis’ wrist, pulling his cigarette away from his mouth and taking it away, lighting it out in the ashtray. Louis surprisingly doesn't glare him out for it.

“Your hair’s gotten longer, huh,” he says, because it’s eerily quiet and maybe talking will prod Louis into letting when his parents will return slip out.

Louis’ hand flies up to the nape of his neck, pressing down against the smooth hairs curling there, slipping his fingers through a sweep. “I suppose.”

“Looks good. Makes you pretty.” He reaches up again, sweeping his own fingers through the hair falling over his forehead gently. Louis’ eyes flutter closed, funnily, and it reminds Harry of the way a butterfly with bruised wings takes off, movements jerky and unnatural; scared. He leans in and kisses Louis’ eyelid.

“You want to fuck,” Louis tells him, when he pulls back. “Want to fuck me.”

Harry doesn't reply, because his mum might’ve raised a gentleman, but she raised a gentleman that refuses to lie. Not admitting anything isn't exactly lying, so.

“You can, y’know.” Louis’ smiling in the way of his again, eyes barely open now. And when Harry places a hand on his skin-- it’s so hot, how he just slowly lets his thighs fall open, boxers stretching around their thick girth. His small hands are resting on his thinned belly, slowly pulling the hem of his shirt up. Harry feels his mouth dry up in increments each time Louis shows off more and more of his sunny torso. He looks healthier than he did last time, which is strange, because he must’ve smoked through hundreds of Marlboros since then, drank his weight in Heineken, and fucked more boys than he should have. Maybe he’s started eating regularly again.

It’s always hard to decide where to leave his eyes on Louis; he’s got the most beautiful face, but it’s so  _ empty _ , so  _ void _ of human emotion. Harry can never let his gaze linger on Louis’ face in general, let alone make eye contact with him, because this awful feeling of  _ dread _ courses through him, so it just leaves his little body, soft in all the good places, soft in the places where Harry digs his fingers in to see Louis’ skin plush around his fingertips and make Louis mew for it, but firm and compact and tight in total. Harry always wants to have his eyes, mouth, hands on it, in it.

Harry reaches out once more and places his hand over Louis’, where it’s pressed against the back of his neck. He tugs the fine hairs there gently, but Louis’ eyes flutter closed again in that funny way, and he lets out an annoyed little noise.

“If you’re just going to fuck around, you can get the fuck out,” Louis begins, but Harry tugs again, this time leaning in as well and pressing his mouth to the lobe of Louis’ ear, tugging it with his teeth to counteract. Louis’ thigh twitches against him.

“Harry--” he exhales, but he still sounds annoyed, and Harry moves his mouth, trailing it down to Louis’ neck. His skin’s cold underneath his lips, and he breathes against him, trying to warm him up before giving him a wet kiss there. Louis shudders, because no matter how aloof and far-off from reality he is, Harry knows where to touch to get a reaction.

After a moment, he lets Louis’ hair go, smoothing it down so it won’t feel as tender as it probably does right now, and leans back, keeping his hand cupped over the nape of Louis’ neck. Louis’ cheeks are flushed, which is a sight Harry takes a second to admire, because recently it’s been like Louis’ body is so exhausted it couldn’t ever even summon colour to his cheeks. He watches how Louis takes the break to reach up with shaky hands, smoothing his own fingers over his nape, probably because he knows where the pain’s coming from better than Harry.

“So?” he asks Harry, giving him a sidelong look. Harry bites his lip, wonders fleetingly if it’s a trick of some sort, before he’s giving a mental  _ fuck it _ and reaching out, smoothing his hands down Louis’ shoulders so his jacket pools in the crook of Louis’ elbows. Louis’ demeanor goes back to that cool, blank, default one as Harry manhandles his legs up onto the couch, spreading his thighs around his hips and kneeling in between them.

His ankles are still thin and a bit hard to touch without feeling uncomfortable, but Harry forges through the sick feeling in his mind; fits his thumbs into the dips of his anklebones, slowly pushing Louis’ legs upward, folding him in. Louis huffs through a smile, pressing his hands into the backs of his knees, keeping them held up.

“You really want it tonight, don't you?” he asks, and Louis raises an eyebrow at him, jerking his chin at the stack of religious pamphlets on the coffee table. When Harry lifts them up, he sees the string of foils, a half-used packet of lube tied up with an elastic beside it.

“Alright,” he says, after a beat. He sweeps them into his hand, and after that the room is quiet, save for his own heavy breathing. He can barely hear Louis’, even though he can see his chest rise up and down steadily. 

“I don't  _ really want it _ , Harry Styles,” Louis tells him, too late. “I just know what you want. And I’m not angry about it. But I wish you’d stop beating round the fucking bush and acting like you’re better than the rest of them. You always do that, and it’s quite irritating, y’know.”

Harry glances up, resting his sight on Louis’ chin, never his eyes. “But you don't make me fuck you on the roof. I may not be better, but that makes me different, at least.”

He can feel Louis’ pondering, tired glare fixated at the top of his head, and when Louis doesn't reply, he begins to think Louis will kick him out. It wouldn't be the first time, certainly. Harry knows how to control his mouth around people, how to say the right things to keep them happy, but it’s like Louis has a completely different chart of what’s right and what’s wrong. It’s so  _ hard _ to keep him pleased.

“I guess,” he replies, breaking the silence and Harry’s thoughts. “I don't know. Just get on with it.”

He’s let his legs splay open around Harry again, hands laying on his tummy, twitching. Harry grabs each ankle of his in his hands, bringing them close and using the leverage to tug Louis down the couch.

“I’m not going to do anything if you don't want it,” he says, and lets go of Louis’ ankles. Louis rolls his eyes, and Harry thinks he’s finally put two and two together to realize Louis’ fingers are twitching for another cigarette.

“Don't be dumb,” he says, “and take me to bed.”

Harry grins down at him, feeling that little ache that sometimes pops up when he’s with Louis. It’s the ache you get when you see something you want, but you know it’s unattainable. His mum has always told him to distance himself from what makes him sad, hurt, angry, jealous, and on, and he’s always done a good job of that because mother knows best and it’s done wonders for his happiness, but Louis. Louis makes him feel all those things, multiplied by tenfold, and then other things, on top of it all. It all hurts so much.

He still lets Louis wrap his thighs round his waist, arms draped over his shoulders, head resting against the crook of his neck, his hands under Louis’ arse. In this position, he can hear Louis’ soft breathing, and even though Harry’s peeve must be hearing someone breathe, since he’s got a locker room full of people who do that-- heavily-- after school every day. But hearing Louis’ is calming, for some reason.

“We could go to my place,” he whispers, carefully stepping past the coffee table and out of the living room, shutting the lights behind himself. “Do we have time?”

“No thanks,” Louis sighs, and Harry drops it quickly, heading up the staircase, maneuvering through the bare hallway easy enough. He’s a ball of heat through Harry’s shirt, even though he was cold a moment before, and it’s always been a strange turn-on for Harry to see someone in his clothes.

If he’s lucky enough to have Louis Tomlinson in his arms, wearing his school letter jacket, then maybe it’s not really  _ such _ a strange turn-on.

He presses his back to the door of Louis’ bedroom, slightly ajar, and pushes it open enough for him to head inside. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark, but the moonlight is glowing heavily through Louis’ open windows, most likely left wide from when he snuck back in down the roof.

He kneels in front of the foot of Louis’ bed, placing him down onto the mattress, nudging his knees apart. Louis watches him through dark lidded eyes as he presses his mouth to the softness of his inner thighs, his hands coming down to lay on his head, fingers tangling into his hair when he latches onto the skin right underneath the boxers Louis’ wearing and sucks. His thighs spread wider, and he tugs a bit, reminiscent to Harry’s own movement not twenty minutes ago.

“C’mon,” he says sweetly, and when Harry looks up, Louis’ looking down, hair around his face and surrounding it perfectly, smile soft, eyes glazed and gone. He cups Harry’s hot cheek in a palm, thumb underneath his chin, nudging him up. “C’mon, Harry Styles.”

Harry goes easily enough, standing up from in between Louis’ thighs, letting him crawl back on the bed, both jacket and shirt slipping down his shoulder. Harry just stands there for a moment, staring at the picture Louis presents-- held up on one elbow, looking up at Harry from underneath his tousled fringe, thighs spread all slutty, hand dropping down to cup where his cock is stretching out the material of the boxers. He’s never been patient, Harry knows, and his hips are already rocking up into his loose grip, a soft moan slipping out his wet lips.

Harry thumbs at the corner of his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to reel from the way his blood rushes, seemingly all pounding to his cock, and it begins to thicken up then. Fantastic. He’s actually surprised he isn't already half-hard; sometimes he nuts it over his fist before he even fingers Louis open. It mostly happened when he was younger, though, and hasn't occurred since. Louis would probably give him hell for it, had it happened anymore.

“Lou,” he says, stepping forward, but Louis ignores him like he’s not even there, and he’s damn good at it. Harry wonders if this is how he does himself when his parents have a hawk’s eye on him and he can’t sneak out. Harry can’t stop staring at the stretch of his hips, the erotic glimpse of his upper thighs through the holes of his boxers. He feels like a pervert, like the type of pervert all boys are expected to be, and he feels dirty, and he feels so bloody  _ turned-on _ . It’s an awful mash of feelings, and then he just feels fucking lightheaded.

He’s still watching Louis as his knees hit the edge of the bed and he stops, reaching down to slip the knob of his jeans through the slit, to undo his flies. Louis’ still not watching him; has reclined back on the bed, hand still palming himself through the threadbare material of the boxers. The shirt is thin enough that Harry can see the tight little buds of his nipples poking through, and his hands fumble for a moment.

It takes way too long for his jeans to finally pool around his ankles so he can kick them off, and by then Louis’ fingers have tightened against the swell of his cock. Harry wants-- wants to ask him what gets his pretty, needy little cock all swollen and drippy, wants to ask if it’s him. 

He asks, and Louis’ head finally hits the pillow, and he just gives Harry a  _ look  _ that includes parted lips and dark eyes and that damn flutter of his lashes, and Harry’s cock is blurting out precome in the restraints of his briefs, hands curling up by his sides in awe.

“You don't know how you look, huh,” he asks, and Louis starts ignoring him again, squirming against the bed as his hand drags up over his bulge and shoves down under the elastic band of the boxers, wrist pinned to his stomach as he works his fingers around himself. Harry finally knees his way onto the bed, grabbing his hips before stilling his hand, pulling it out. Louis gives him a murderous glare. It’s still pretty.

“Don't do that,” he says, and then he lets go of Louis’ hand, hooking his fingers underneath the elastic, tugging his boxers down. Louis’ chin lolls against his chest, and Harry glances down, sees his cock pressed against the soft dip of hip, flushed and slick at the tip, balls drawn up tight. He grins.

“ _ You _ ,” Louis huffs, trying to rut against Harry’s thigh for friction, “don't do  _ that _ , Harry Styles.”

“Be more specific,” Harry replies absently, waiting for Louis to kick the boxers off the toes of his foot before he runs his hands up the backs of his thighs, folding them in towards his chest again. His favourite place of Louis’ body might be the backs of Louis’ knees, that little pink bend, thinly veiled in skin, because it’s the only place Harry can tickle to get a laugh from Louis. It’s nice to press his thumbs into as well, make divots in the skin. Louis doesn't laugh when he does it anymore, ever since he found out why Harry was fascinated with it, just does a little kick of his legs from the sensitivity. 

“Don't tease, Harry Styles. I’ll still kick you out.”

Harry believes it. “Calm down, pet.” He lets Louis’ legs fall open again, because he’s greedy and can’t decide if he likes Louis all open for him or all wound up. “I forgot the condoms and lube downstairs.”

Louis’ staring at the ceiling when he glances back up at his face. “You’re saying that-- you know I have more. Here.”

“Because you’re a slag, right?” Harry asks, without missing a beat. He knows exactly where it is, too. “A cheap slag. You don't even care if the boy’s good-looking or not. You’ll let him fill you up.”

“You just wait, Harry Styles. I may be a cheap slag now, but in the future I’ll be whoring for millionaires. Billionaires. Presidents and state senators. Handsome, rich men.”

Harry eyes his body hungrily. He looks so good in moonlight. “Oh, I don't doubt that one bit, Lou.”

Louis grins, holding his hands out and beckoning Harry down. “You shouldn't.”

Harry goes, letting Louis slip his hands onto his shoulders before pulling him down and kissing him. It’s wet and soft; Louis’ mouth pliant, hands loose, breath even. 

Harry’s different.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm still sad i never got to write that long rockstar!harry epic i always wanted to. oh well.

“I hear you’re the lad that works for Billboard,” someone says beside him, and Louis smiles around the lip of his beer. If it’d been anyone else, he’d have sighed and told them to piss off, because this is his time and no, he does not want to listen to your mixtape, but this isn't anyone else.

This is the bass player of that one up-and-coming trashy rock band, Harry Styles; the inexplicably handsome bass player. Louis spares him one glance through peripheral vision and just the sight of his sweat-shiny skin and confident smirk and messy hair has him shifting on the stool, his thighs spreading just that little bit unconsciously.

“So I am,” he drawls in response, and takes a swig from his beer just to tip his head back and show his throat move as he swallows, and to let the bottle slip from his mouth with a filthy slick noise. He likes to live his life through innuendo. “Can I help you?”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he replies, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes are glinting. Louis shakes his bottle; it’s nearly empty. He nods.

“That’d be brilliant, mate, thanks.” He rests his elbows on the countertop and folds his arms, watching Harry wave down the bartender and order two beers. “But now I want you to tell me what you really want from me.”

“Straightforward, aren't you,” Harry says with a little smile. He slides onto the stool beside Louis’ and rests his cheek on one of his hands, raising an eyebrow. “What did you think of the performance?”

Aha. Louis knew it. He gives the bartender a little nod and smile in thanks as she slides their beers over to them, wrapping his fingers around the icy bottle and subduing his flinch. “Well, I enjoyed it, I suppose,” he says slowly, because he likes to ratchet up the tension. “Which is saying a lot in me case, because I despise this new hipster rock band trend.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry smiles, and licks his lips after he takes a drink from the beer. Louis’ thighs clench and unclench; he hasn't been this horny since -- two months ago, since he and Aiden broke up. He decides then that he’s going to have sex with Harry. “Especially since it’s not your thing, because that’s so cool, y’know? Even though you don't usually like it, you made an exception for us.”

“True,” Louis says, and takes another sip, pondering his options. “I give you guys an eight out of ten. Six for the music, two for the stage appeal.”

It’s a delicious thing when Harry looks mildly surprised; even better when he leans in and places one big warm hand on the small of Louis’ back, his breath whispering around Louis’ ear as he whispers, “is there any way I could possibly bump that score up two notches?”

“Well,” Louis says, and tries not to smirk like a shark, “now that you mention it, maybe.”

Harry’s mouth curls up into that fucking smirk again, his fingers curling around Louis’ waist and pulling him off the stool easily, catching him when he stumbles. Louis’ giggling into the beer and it makes a hollow sound; he feels seventeen again, sneaking into a club and drunk as fuck when he finally finds a man to take his virginity in the loo. Except -- he’s most definitely not a virgin this time, and Harry’s a lot hotter than that guy was.

Harry takes him to the loo though, completely unceremoniously, and that feels fun, being pushed up against the door to their bathroom stall and kissed desperately, like he’s all that’s keeping Harry together at the moment. He sighs happily into Harry’s hot, wet mouth, sliding his free hand into his damp curls. He uses the leverage to tug Harry’s head each which way until he’s at the perfect height for Louis to lick into his mouth comfortably, suck on his tongue and chasing the warm press of Harry’s lips. He hasn't shaved in a while because of how busy he is nowadays, and it scratches Harry’s skin, and Harry’s mouth is rubbed raw and swollen as he pulls back to kiss down Louis’ neck wetly, tongue darting out as he sucks sharp bites into his skin. His hands smooth down Louis’ hips until he cups Louis’ cheeks through the material of his tight trousers and pulls him forward, grinding them together.

Louis’ already half-hard and Harry probably is too, which is why it’s so thrilling to reach down and cup his hand around the shape of Harry’s prick through his jeans, because he seems massive. Louis’ arsehole clenches and he moans, his own cock twitching and leaking precome stickily against the thin material of his briefs. “C’mon,” he breathes, fumbling with the bottle of beer before it drops to the death it was destined for, and he can slide both hands into Harry’s hair. 

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs against his collar bones, and then the warmth of his broad body backs off and Louis frowns. He watches as Harry reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, opening it up and sliding his fingers inside it to grab a thin gray packet of lube. Louis can see a litany of condoms in there too, and he slaps a palm over his mouth to keep from cackling.

“You like being fingered?” Harry asks him flat-out, tearing the packet open with his teeth as he uses his other hand to loop through the belt holes of Louis’ jeans, tugging them down around the tops of his thighs. Louis doesn't think he’s even ever heard the word ‘fingered’ other than in his own head.

“I do enjoy it, yes,” Louis replies, helping Harry in the struggle to push his jeans down. “Depends on how good you are with your hands, though.” He smiles a little, his fringe falling into his face, raising one eyebrow, and Harry chuckles low and deep enough that it has him pressing his thighs together. 

“I’ve been told I’m really good,” he murmurs, and tips his chin out. “Turn around, brace your hands on the door.”

“Brace meself, huh,” Louis mutters, but complies anyway, arching his back so his arse pushes out in a way he knows is enticing -- he’s checked in the mirror. “A little full of yourself there mate, don't you think?”

“Why don't you try it out and then tell me?” Harry answers, and Louis shivers -- he’s plastered himself to Louis’ back, and his mouth is back at the shell of Louis’ ear as he nudges his thighs apart with his knee, sliding two fingers in between the round plush of Louis’ arse cheeks and letting them snub against Louis’ hole, rubbing them over him . They’re calloused; of course they are, he plays guitar, and Louis’ sure he’s been in this band for a few years -- not that he’s read their Wikipedia page or anything. “Ready?”

“Of course I’m -- ohhh.” Louis shudders as Harry fucks one finger in, just the tip, before pulling it out and sliding it back in all the way, up to the last knuckle, pushing through any resistance. It’s long and thick, sinking back into him in a steady rhythm, opening him up until his hole is going loose. “Oh my G --”

“That’s one finger, and thirty seconds,” Harry roughs against his ear, like it’s a reminder, and then the next time he’s tucking two inside the clutch of Louis’ body. “You’re so little but you take them so good; fuck, your tight little arse is so greedy --”

The boy has the face of a cherub and he’ll probably dirty talk Louis to orgasm. Louis’ hands reach up and his fingers curl around the top of the stall door, holding on for dear life. The stretch is a little too much, too early, but Louis just tries to relax his body and spread his thighs as wide as they can go without being uncomfortable; bears down on Harry’s fingers hard. Harry latches his soft mouth onto the skin at the base of Louis’ neck and sucks as he curls his expert fingers and shoves them in deep enough Louis’ toes curl in his tattered Vans. Drummers may be able to bang well, but bass players are on a whole other level with their fingers. Louis sobs a little and his stomach starts pooling with warmth.

He’s not saying Harry and that massive cock of his wouldn't be able to catch up to a drummer’s banging abilities, though, and the thought makes Louis feel even warmer and helplessly turned on -- he’s probably just loose enough at this point for Harry to pull his fingers out and shove his cock in, fuck him until Louis’ coming on nothing but that. His hole clenches and he sinks his mouth into his bicep to keep himself from letting out any other noises. 

“C’mon,” Harry whispers after a moment, and Louis’ body seizes up, chest pressing against the cool door as he slides three in this time, “c’mon, you can do it.”

It’s not the first time a man has been cruel enough to tell him he has to come without touching himself. He knows how this works now. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling in his belly, focuses on Harry’s fingers stretching his arsehole, his blunt thumb rubbing soothingly over his rim. He rocks back down after a moment and meets his hand on each fuck in, mimicking the movements of riding a cock, and Harry swears under his breath and plants a wet kiss to his skin, rubbing firm fingertips over his prostate. The last thing Louis thinks before his cock spurts against his quivering belly is that he’s probably not going to be able to fucking walk because of this for a while.

“Shit,” he sobs, rocking his hips lazily as he comes before he comes to a still, shuddering and too sensitive. Harry murmurs sweet nothings against his skin and pulls his fingers out slowly and gently, and a moment later Louis hears the telltale sounds of someone slicking their own cock up. He gasps a little, his hole tightening at the thought of Harry fucking him when he’s so sensitive, but Harry presses against his back again and slides his slick cock in between his arse cheeks only, rutting against it.

It’s not as good as getting fucked, but it’s still blissful; he’s definitely hung as fuck, Louis can confirm now, thick and hot and pulsing. The fat head of his knob snags against Louis hole a few times, and the closer he gets to orgasm, the faster his thrusts become, until he’s groaning and holding Louis’ hips tightly and coming over his arse, some of it dripping over Louis’ hole.

There goes his dignity. “Yeah,” he pants, nodding sluggishly. “Yeah, okay, I’ll change it to twelve out of ten,” and Harry laughs, leans in to kiss his cheek.

(He does change it to a twelve out of ten, and he can’t hide his horrid blush when Harry thanks him for that two years later, his band on the stage and accepting their first Grammy. It’s not their last.)

(Neither was their club-washroom romp, coincidentally.)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> god, fraternity au's. my fave au's, i think.

Harry’s already pulling off his shirt as he walks into Louis’ house, ignoring the eyes of the brothers standing around the stairs and watching him silently. He heads up the stairs, already wound up from a session at the gym with Liam, and when he makes it to Louis’ bedroom at the end of the hall, he nudges the unlocked door open and is met with a sheet of smoke, windows shut.

“ _ Finally _ ,” Louis says as he locks the door behind himself. it’s not as dramatic as it usually would be, but Louis already looks high as a kite, so he’s probably lacking his acting abilities at the moment. Harry makes his way to the bed and stops at the end, taking in Louis’ spread-eagle form on the sheets. The bowl on the nightstand is burnt through, and he raises an eyebrow as Louis snakes a hand down to cup the shape of his cock through his sweats.

“Didn't leave any f’me,” he says, kneeing onto the bed. He wraps a hand around Louis’ ankle, lifting it up and kissing the knob slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Louis. Louis grins slowly, all lazy and sexy, squeezes his hand around himself.

“Make me come and I’ll prepare another bowl, promise,” he says, fluttering his lashes. He scowls when Harry pulls his hand away from his crotch, but it turns into a pleased hum when Harry palms over him himself. “C’mon, I’ve been waitin’, ugly.”

“I know,” Harry says, and then curses when Louis snorts. “I meant, I knew you’ve been waiting. You knew.”

“I know, you know, we all know. C’mon now.” Louis sticks his tongue out, humping his hips again. He doesn't even seem to acknowledge Harry, but it’s not that much out of the ordinary. Louis only ever acknowledges Harry when he’s ruining his life. “ _ Styles _ .”

“Fuck, alright,” Harry grits, because for some reason Louis’ getting on his nerves more so than usual. He snakes his hands up Louis’ thighs, squeezing them because he’s sort of in love with their thick firmness, then he tucks two fingers underneath the waistband of Louis’ sweats and pulls them down. He’s not even surprised when Louis’ bare cock slaps against his belly, hard and dripping at the tip, because Louis’ always commando underneath his sweats. As if Harry didn't already have a big enough problem of seeing his arse through their soft material.

He runs his hand over the underside of Louis’ cock just to see him twitch and whine, hands fisted into the sheets by his hips. His eyes are blown from the weed and his mouth is wet, teeth pulling at his bottom lip, digging in harshly when Harry’s hand sweeps under his balls and to his hole, wet and hot.

“ _ And _ you got started without me?” Harry asks, and Louis rolls his eyes, huffing out in annoyance. Harry knows it’s annoyance. He knows what each of Louis’ huffs, sighs and noises mean. You must know your enemy, is what Gemma always said.

“I’ll finish without you if you don't hurry the--  _ fuck _ !” Louis yelps as Harry ducks down and sucks the head of his cock in, swallowing once before taking him down. “Fuck, fuck, mother _ fuck _ \--”

Louis’ babbling doubles when Harry takes him all the way, sucking tightly as he slips two fingers into Louis’ hole. It’s hard to tell if Louis fingered himself, or if he’s loosened because he got fucked, and the idea of the second option makes Harry irrationally, stupidly jealous, yet horribly turned-on all at the same time. It’s a feeling he’s felt before, and it’s not really pleasant.

Louis slips his hands into his hair, tangling his fingers into Harry’s curls for leverage to nudge his hips up, the head of his cock flexing to dribble out another trickle of precome. Harry can feel Louis thicken up to full hardness on his tongue, and he amuses him for a second more, sucking before pulling off. The frustrated noise Louis makes at the loss is music to Harry’s ears.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, and Louis stops whining, “or did you finish the lube without me too?”

“Maybe,” Louis says, and now he’s grinning lewdly, because Harry just handed over the reigns in a moment of utter stupidity. “Maybe I was sick of you mistreating me ‘n m’dick, and I got myself a new boy. Or two.”

“Or three, or four,” Harry continues as he spies the half-full bottle by Louis’ pillow. “Slut.”

“S’that all you got, Styles?” Louis asks, watching as Harry undoes his jeans, pushing them down around his thighs, along with his boxers, and taking his cock in hand. Harry thinks Louis could be classified as drooling’ at the moment.

“Whore,” Harry snaps, slicking himself up generously. Louis’ high, probably out of touch, and he’s not going to be the guy who ends up hurting him somehow. “All you ever want is sex. A dick in you.” He takes Louis’ thighs in his sticky hands, nudging them as far apart as he can, which is-- pretty far, fuck, because over the years he’s come to know Louis as horrifyingly flexible. He then folds his legs in towards his chest, until Louis’ knees are by his shoulders, and the head of his cock is snubbed against Louis’ hole, hot and nearly sucking him in.

“I’m not denying it,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s shoulders, digging his sharp little nails into Harry’s skin and moaning as Harry fucks in once, half his cock sinking right in, and  _ fuck _ \-- he stills and shudders, Louis’ body tight and hot and pulsing around him, clinging to his cock. He waits for a moment, breathing heavily by Louis’ shoulder, Louis’ mouth sucking at his neck and leaving possessive bruises everyone will ignore tomorrow, before he rolls his hips once more and sinks in all the way.

Louis makes a pleased noise, sliding his fingers into Harry’s damp hair and bringing him down to press his tongue into his mouth. The movement causes Harry to press in farther, and he exhales shakily in Louis’ mouth, shuts his eyes and lets Louis suck on his tongue. He’s--he’s missed this, after getting into a fight with Louis two weeks ago and then being sent home. He hasn't even settled back into his fraternity; parked in the student’s lot and made his way over to Louis’ house. Louis would probably send his brothers out to kill him if he weren't stoned, and, judging from the bottle of Blue Moon on his nightstand, a bit drunk.

“C’m _ on _ ,” Louis whispers, voice raspy and thick, and Harry buries his face in the sweaty crook of Louis’ neck, runs a hand over his chest to ruck up his  _ Kissing Is Cool _ shirt, covered in stains of who-knows-what before he leans back, gripping Louis from the backs of his thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh behind his knees as he draws out before pressing back in again. He never looks at Louis’ face when he fucks him, though he really, really wants to, but watching himself sink back inside of him is probably the next-best possibility.

“Fuck,” he huffs after a moment, rhythmic thrusting growing sloppy. He feels like he’s just going under from the pungent smell of weed in the air, and he tilts Louis’ hips up, spreading his thighs wider and fucking into him quicker, harder, balls hitting the pink underside of Louis’ ass in a way that would be embarrassing had he been fucking anyone else.

He lets his chin drop to his chest and concentrates on getting himself off as Louis snake a hand around his own cock, thick and heavy against his sparse belly, tugging himself off in time to Harry’s thrusts. He’s clenching sporadically, tight like a vice, and--he probably didn't get fucked before this, and Harry has to hide his smile by biting his bottom lip hard, feeling the blood rush underneath the raw skin as his orgasm washes over him.

“Fuck,” he mutters, grinds to a halt and stays still, before Louis slaps his bicep and he pulls out. He stays hovering over Louis, holding his half-hard cock by the base as Louis slides himself up against it once and shudders, spilling over his chest, hand tight between his spread thighs. He looks so, so good, and if Harry hadn't just come three seconds ago he would’ve probably had him again.

He rids himself of the condom, tying it up and flinging it somewhere in the general direction of the garbage can, and collects himself, fingers scrunching up the comforter underneath his hands, and silently waits for Louis to tell ask him to stay, keep his promise from earlier of packing another bowl. It never comes, though, even after a few moments, and with a shaky breath, he shuffles off the bed, tugging his briefs up over his sensitive dick, before he does up his jeans. He gives Louis a small smile, but Louis’ already pulled the brim of his snapback down, tugging his own sweats up, and Harry lets himself out of the room at that, because deep down he knows he wasn't really expecting much more.

  
  
  


Football practice is the next day which is a Godsent gift, because it’s something vigorous that he can throw himself into and forget about Louis while doing so.

He’s on the bench, sweating under the harsh sun, helmet by his side as he fiddles with his phone. Recently he’s been pretty obsessed with a game he randomly found on the App store one day, and he’s gotten pretty into it when Liam plops down beside him, nudging Harry’s padded shoulder with his own.

“So what’s up?” he asks, and Harry shrugs a bit petulantly.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You look exactly like my dog when he doesn't get treats.”

“Like your dog--honestly, I’m fine. Zayn told you to ask me, didn't he?” He drops his phone down onto his duffel bag and leans back, shielding his eyes from the sun as he glances at Liam, who’s smiling guiltily. Harry tries to feel smug, but really, he’s pretty protective of his brothers and their feelings, no matter how many times he’s told frat boys don't care about feelings, so he nudges Liam’s shoulder and gives him a bright smile.

“I’m fine, really,” he promises. “Tell Zayn, too, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Liam nods, and he looks pretty convinced, which is a shallow win, considering Harry isn't a fan of lying. He’d rather die than tell them why he feels like this at the moment, though, so he grabs his helmet and heads back onto the field when coach blows his whistle.

  
  
  
  


Harry has a good feeling about the pledges his house collected at the Rush this year. Usually, Louis snaps up the promising-looking Freshman before anyone can even blink, but Harry had alerted his boys to be like a hawk and make sure that doesn't again happen this year.

They end up with a nice group of boys who don't exactly cocky but also don't look as scared as pledges usually are, always wide-eyed and waiting for Harry to announce their fate of a hazing where they’ll be emotionally, physically, and mentally scarred for the rest of their lives. Maybe even all three.

“Really, I just want to take down Tomlinson’s fraternity,” Harry says as he pries the lid off his cold bottle of Stella beer. It’s incredible how the tension from the pledges’ shoulders seem to seep out just from his words. “However you see fit. Pranks, planting drugs, scandalous videos. Go crazy. Any questions?”

“No drinking?” asks a wary, tall, blond-quiffed boy.

“Obviously, there’ll be a few drinking games, but I think you’ll survive.” He takes a swig from his own beer, as if proving a point.

“Can we, like, do illegal things?” asks another boy.

“No,” Harry says, raising an eyebrow. “The university banned hazing, aka illegal activity.” He waits for a moment, but none of the boys seem to have anything else to say, so he grins at them. “Well. I wish you guys luck.”

Niall slides onto the couch as the new boys head out, back to their dorms, clinking their bottles together while Zayn and Liam sit on the coffee table in front of them. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Harry replies, and takes another long drink, sighing afterwards. It’s a mistake, because Zayn latches onto it quick as a flash.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is a FRATERNITY AU but also FEMSLASH WOW. yep, we're closing out with some good ol' femslash. and that's it! well, guys, it's been a crazy ride. until next time. :)

“To the end of the goddamn tour!” Louis crows, and Harry slaps a hand over her mouth before anyone can really process it. Louis glares at her, and Harry glares right back, until she bursts into a fit of giggles. Louis’ really passed her too many shots tonight.

“You’re ruining my flow,” Louis whines when she pulls her hand back. She’s got two bottles of beer in the loose circles of her hands, and her snapback is turned so the bill faces back. She looks like a frat girl. Do people call the female equivalent of a frat boy a frat girl? Harry squints. “I was totally hyped, and now I’m all, like, not hyped.”

Harry doesn't care anymore; she’s definitely a frat girl. She slides up beside her and winds her arm around her waist, pulling her against her side. Louis comes easily enough, head tipping back and beer sloshing down her wrists. Her eyes are closed and Harry takes the time to shoot a look at all the guys watching her over the top of her head. “You’re you, Lou, you can always find your flow. Or whatever it’s called.”

“It’s called my flow,” she says crossly, before her smile goes lazy and she looks up at Harry with one ridiculously arched eyebrow. “And personally, I think you should pay me back somehow. Like. For ruining my flow, y’know.”

If Harry were to use that line when Louis was sober, she’d never stop rolling her eyes. Harry grins down at her, pretending to mull it over until Louis scowls and presses closer, whining a breathy ‘please’ and waggling her eyebrows. She’s a hot mess, and Harry loves it, loves her.

“You’re right,” she concedes, “I ruined your flow, so I’ve got to pay you back. Only fair, innit?” Louis nods quickly, like an over-eager puppy, throwing her arms in the air and cheering like a particularly terrible cheerleader. More beer sloshes down her wrists, and Harry leans over and plucks the bottles from her hands before she accidentally smashes them over some club goer’s head. “Let’s just tell Paul we’re finished here first, yeah?”

Louis pouts about that, following Harry around as she tells Paul, and then the other girls. By the time they’re in the hotel’s lift Louis’ watching her with dark eyes, standing on the other side of the small box. Harry snorts, leaning back and raising an eyebrow.

“You can come here, y’know.”

Louis pounces, and clings to Harry all the way to the doors of their hotel room, kissing her neck as Harry tries her best to multitask opening the door and not dropping Louis.

Harry presses herself along Louis’ back as soon as they stumble into the room, muffling her giggles into the soft crook of Louis’ neck. Their fingers are laced together on Louis’ belly, and Harry can feel the vibration of Louis’ own laugh through her palm. “Y’proper pissed, darlin’,” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear, before brushing her lips lower, sucking a bruise behind Louis’ pulse point. Louis whines a little, rocking her arse back, and Harry faintly remembers they haven't even locked the front door.

“Yeah, well, I feel like I had the right,” she replies back, “tour’s over, thank the Goddess.” She sounds a little too haughty for what Harry is interested in at the moment. She briefly thinks about bending her over the kitchen countertop, kissing wetly down the knobs of her spine before dropping to her knees behind her and licking into her cunt, make her come once from that.

But then, thinking about it again, they’ve got the whole flat to their disposal, alcohol rushing through their veins and the rest of the night in front of them. And she’d like to do Louis on a more easy-to-maneuver place, so she tightens her arm around Louis’ waist and steers her to the bedroom, their legs knocking together clumsily. Louis is a hot little ball of fire through their clothes, and Harry can feel her arousal heighten each time Louis sinks back a little more into her, until they tumble down onto the bed.

“Where are you?” Louis sing-songs, definitely the definition of properly pissed. Harry lifts herself up on her forearms, watching Louis wiggle against the bed until she flops onto her back, blinking up at her with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry says, and leans down to kiss her. She can taste the fruity Vodka remix Louis had made at the bar on her tongue, and faintly the tang of the lip balm Lou has been forcing her to wear these days. Her mouth is wet and hot, and Harry shudders a little when her hands slide into her hair, curling into the soft strands and pulling her down until their chests are flush.

Louis’ nipples are already hard, poking up against the tatty material of her threadbare Marvel t-shirt, and Harry attaches her mouth back to the curve of Louis’ neck, sucking sweetly as she thumbs over her left nipple. Louis’ hands are still wound tight in her hair and she whines, arching into it, sliding their hips together. The thigh Harry has wedged between Louis’ legs can feel the warmth radiating from her, and when she tugs Louis’ skin between her teeth gently Louis pushes her hips down, grinding against her thigh.

She gets sort of really horny when drunk. “Easy babe,” Harry laughs against her, and Louis huffs, rolling her hips just the slightest bit again. Harry would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the feeling; she should definitely try to convince Louis to wear mini skirts way more often than those sweats and tight jeans of hers. She squeezes the firm flesh of Louis’ tit once, watching her suck in a shaky breath, before sliding her hand down under her skirt and cupping her wet cunt, the elastic trapping her wrist.

She rubs two firm fingertips over Louis’ folds through the soft material of her knickers, and Louis hisses, baring her sharp teeth and gripping Harry’s shoulders tight, pushing down. She’s so close, always is before her first orgasm, gets riled up as easy as anything, and Harry thinks about maybe sinking two fingers inside of her and letting her come once to calm her down but decides against it. Ever since meeting Louis’ she’s become cruel in a way; she used to an impossibly sweet, nice girl before.

Louis’ face twists up as she pulls her hand out, and she opens her spit-slick cherry lips to whine but Harry shushes her with another quick kiss before sliding down her body. Louis’ chin is pressed against her chest, lips open in an erotic-looking little ‘o’, dark blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. Harry gives her a quick smirk before ducking her head underneath her skirt, attaching her lips to her cunt through the knickers in a hot, sucking kiss.

Louis yowls at that, hips punching up, and Harry slides two fingers under the elastic of her underwear, tugging them off her smooth legs quickly before settling back between her thighs. She digs her thumbs into the crease of Louis’ hips, rucking her skirt up, and licks up her slick folds, pressing her tongue firmly just under her clit. Louis swears, winds her fingers back in Harry’s hair and tugs her face in, grinding her hot cunt against her mouth and chin, shaking out her first orgasm.

First, Harry thinks, because details are important. She gives herself a moment to breathe, and Louis moans at the cool air of her breath over where she’s wet and sensitive. Harry can feel the wetness all over her lower face, and she squeezes her thighs shut on a new wave of arousal, feeling her own knickers go even damper.

Louis’ already sinking back into the bed, giving the occasional whimper, head lolling to the side. Harry grins shark-like and squeezes her lovely firm thighs, nuzzling her nose against the sensitive skin on their insides. All she can feel now is Louis’ warmth, her wetness and arousal, and she sucks a bruise into her skin because she just enjoys marking her all over before murmuring there, “not done yet, babe.”

“Guhn,” Louis says, twitching when Harry fastens her mouth back to her clit. Louis tells her often that she should probably add pussy-eater to her resume, with how often she goes about it -- and how well, she always adds after a moment -- and Harry thinks she should. Harry Styles, singer, songwriter, fashion icon, pussy-eater. It sounds nice.

It’s always easier to make Louis come the second time, and Harry goes about it quick and hard and sloppy, lapping up into Louis’ cunt greedily, like it’ll be the last time and she’s trying to taste it all and savour it. Louis’ thighs keep trying to press against her face, trembling under her palms, and she squeezes her hands around them and pins them down to the bed, burying her face into Louis’ pussy. 

She tongues into her, chest heaving, before pulling back to suck in a quick breath of air. Louis makes a raspy gasping noise, uses her hair as grip to tug her back in, whispering, “keep going, darling,” and Harry smiles against her before complying. She opens her mouth wide like she wants to take all of Louis’ cunt in her mouth, and Louis complies in return, shamelessly grinding against her face. She can feel the wetness drip down her chin, pool in her collarbones, and she fucks her own hips into the bed frantically, pressing her thighs together and humping against the mattress as she attaches her mouth to Louis’ clit and sucks hard.

After a moment it gets unbearable and she snakes one of her own hands down between her hips and the bed, lifting her waist just enough to slide a hand underneath the waistband of her jeans and rub over her clit. It’s harder to keep up with the rhythm she’s set of eating Louis out, but it doesn't matter much because Louis’ hand is pulling her hair hard again and she’s coming against her face once more, crying out and shaking with it.

Harry lifts her face a moment later to see Louis’ belly quivering, one of her arms thrown over her eyes, panting hard. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and raises an eyebrow, murmurs, “so?”

“Fuck you,” is Louis’ response, voice even more raspy at this point. It’s delicious, and Harry kisses her hipbone just to make her twitch, before pushing herself back up over her. Her hair falls down her back loosely, swishing over Louis’ shoulders, and Louis yawns. “I should make you come ‘fore I fall asleep or somethin’.”

“No need,” Harry says, dropping a kiss to her forehead, and Louis pulls her arm back and blinks up at her with disbelieving eyes. They’re glassy and glazed-over just satisfactorily enough. “Took care of that m’self. Sleep whenever you like.”

“You’re a terrible wanker,” Louis whines and Harry snorts, flopping down beside her. She watches Louis flop around for a moment, trying to push herself up with jelly limbs, before rolling her eyes, grabbing her wrist, and tugging her near. Louis takes the initiative and slings one thigh around Harry’s hips, straddling her for a moment before ducking down and pressing her face into the crook of her neck. “I dunno why but I love you.”

“You love me because I can get you off twice in, like, three seconds,” Harry says. “And others have barely made you come once in three hours.”

“I dunno why I told you about that, too,” Louis says, yawning again. She’s getting to the stage where she stops looking like Louis Tomlinson the girl sexy in a way that you would let her rip you to pieces gladly, to Louis Tomlinson the bratty sleepy little kitten. Harry pets her hair soothingly. 

“You were proper pissed when you did, y’know,” she tells her seriously, and Louis flicks her stomach, rolling her eyes.


End file.
